


-n^o^ 











.0"., "^i, ,„ 












"- '••".^^'^ 







" "^o ■(-■* 









^' 














^ ^ '"Mi 















•^ Y» *^ * O « ' ^ ,^ » I 1 - 



' .^.'^ 









.-to. 



p ^^'\ '°^/ /% -.W- y-/' 












THESEASONS. 



BT 



JAMES THOMSON, 



CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS OF VARIOUS AUTHORS ON HIS 
GENIUS AND CHARACTER; 

AND 

NOTES, EXPLANATORY AND CRITICAL, 



BT 

JAMES ROBERT BOYD, 

KDITOB OF THE PARADISE LOST, AND OF YOUNO's NIGHT THOUGHTS, 
WITH NOTES, ETC. 



"The Seasons,"- -a Poem, which, founded as it is upon the unfading beauties of 
Nature, will live as long as the language in which it is written shall be reacL 

Db. Aikin. 



REVISED EDITION. 

NEW YORK: 
A. S. BARNES & Co., Ill & 113 WILLIAM STREET, 

(corner of JOHN STREET.) 

1866. 



PR21 



\ 



";^ 



\m^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852; 

By a. S. EAENES & CO. 

In the Clsrk's Office of the District Court of tlie United States, for the Southed 
District of New Yorlt. 



Gift 

Mfss Frances S.Hal^ 
July 8,1931 



Stsksottpsd bt 
lUCHABD C. VALENTINE, 



e? 



PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 



In this age, when the press is covering our land with 
a frivolous and pernicious literature, therg is great dan- 
ger that the rising generation will too much neglect, if 
not entirely lose sight of, those noble and solid produc- 
tions of the British Muse which were familiar to their 
predecessors — the poems of Milton and Young, of Cow- 
per and Thomson. These are worthy, not of a hasty 
perusal only, but of frequent and profound study — espe- 
cially by the young — for the varied information which 
they contain ; for the learning, and taste, and high order 
of genius which they display, and for the eminent service 
they are adapted to afford, in the proper culture of the 
mind and of the heart. The study of such authors, if so 
far pursued as to secure a fair appreciation of their style, 
and sentiments,' and scientific information, cannot fail to 
raise the mind above the danger of contaminating and 
degrading itself with the greatly inferior and the worth- 
less productions so common at the present day. But 
such an acquaintance with these authors cannot, except 
in rare instances, be looked for, without the aid of suit- 
able commentaries, that shall clear up obscure passages, 
call attention to what is beautiful or faulty in style or 
sentiment, and, in short, give to the immature and un- 
cultivated mind the aid and the incitement which it 



4 PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDIIION. 

needs, to enter into the spirit and feel tlie force of tlicse 
productions. In our academies and colleges the poets of 
Greece and Home are critically studied ; many years of 
toil are bestowed upon them ; but it is j)ainful to con- 
sider how little attention, on the other hand, is devoted 
to the English poets, though some of them are not less 
deserving than the former of study and admiration. It 
was the earnest desire and hope of leading teachers to 
give to the best English poets the same high place in a 
course of education, and the same attention which is 
given to the Roman and Grecian, that induced me to 
prepare a critical commentary on the Paradise Lost, and 
on Young's Night Thoughts, and now upon Thomson's 
Seasons ; and I cannot doubt, that at no distant day a 
thorough and critical study of such worlcs as these will 
he deemed essential, and will he demanded in all semi- 
naries ahove the grade of the frimary schools. It is true 
that even in these the poems alluded to are used exten- 
sively ; but, in almost all instances, it is for no higher 
purpose than grammatical parsing. Tliis, indeed, has 
its benefits, but there are much higher purposes to be 
attained in the proper study of these authors, which, it is 
hoped, may be secured by the diligent study of them in 
connection with the commentaries now before the public. 

Not only in the school-room — in the family circle also 
— ^the productions of these distinguished English poets, 
exjplaiaied and illustrated^ are much needed. Every 
family library and every district-school library should 
contain a commentary upon Milton, and Young, and 
Thomson, adapted to the wants of the mass of readers. 

In my editions of these authors, I have endeavored, by 
the copiousness and elementary character of many of the 
notes, to make the study of them an introduction and 



PLAJs i\NL» DK'IiN OF THIS EDITION. 5 

preparation for the (jencral reading of jpoetry to advan- 
tage — an object of no small importance in the view of 
any one who duly regards and seeks to promote the re- 
finement of taste, the proper culture of the imagination, 
and intellectual strength. 

Bishop Newton first rendered to the cause of literature 
and to the general reader, a most important service, by 
selecting from the papers of Addison, in the Spectator, 
the cnticisms which they contained ijpbn the Paradise 
Lost, and by distributing them in the form of notes to the 
various parts of the poem to which they related, that they 
might conveniently be read in connection with the pas- 
sage thus illustrated or explained. In the illustration of 
Thomson, I have adopted the same course, by selecting 
from the pages of reviews and other works, such valuable 
criticisms as I have discovered upon " The Seasons," 
and by distributing them through the poem for the con- 
venience of the reader : so that the notes will be found 
to embrace -a tolerably extensive Cyclopedia of erudite 
and tasteful criticism, in reference to this poem, from the 
pens of some of the most distinguished critics of the pres- 
ent century — no small advantage surely to all Avho have 
not access to these original sources, or if they had, have 
not the time or industry to look them up, as they might 
be found useful fo;- the better, appreciation of the succes- 
sive portions of the work. 

For the convenience of the reader, when taking up the 
poem for desultory or occasional perusal, the princijpal 
topics have heen designated in a conspicuous manner^ so 
that a selection may be made without difficulty or delay. 

That " The Seasons" eminently deserves the labor of 
criticism and of full illustration, will appear, on consid- 
ering the vast amount of interesting information of all 



6 I'LAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 

kinds tliat is embodied in it ; more especially in regard 
to natural objects, phenomena, and events. While it is 
not devoid of sentiment^ genial and refined^ its more 
striking characteristiG is the large extent and comjpass 
of knowledge which it displays. I have looked upon it 
as pre-eminently valuable, from the fulness and heauty 
of its teachings in all the ]}Tominent departments of 
Natural History^ and have thought, that, by a some- 
what ample explanation of those subjects in the notes^ a 
taste may be formed, or matured, in this interesting 
branch of st^idy, and a foundation laid for prosecuting it 
with happy success. The desire is strongly felt, more- 
over, to encourage and aid the formation of the hdbit^ 
so seldom formed, and yet so valuable, of connecting with 
the study of Nature the study of its great Author : nor 
can it be doubted that if the youthful mind were trained 
to take delight in the beauties, sublimities, and ever- 
varying changes of the physical world, and to connect 
with its observation of these an habitual recognition of 
the infinitely wise and beneficent Creator, there would 
be furnished an unfailing source of profitable entertain- 
ment and delight that would strongly tend to raise the 
mind above the danger of vicious associations and the 
'pursuit of vicious practices. 

In the language of one of Thomson's eloquent coun- 
trymen, it may be added, that " our moral being owes 
deep obligation to all who assist us to study ISTature 
aright ; for, believe us, it is high and rare knowledge to 
know and to have the true and full use of our eyes. 
Millions go to the grave in old age without ever having 
learned it : the}^ were just beginning, perhaj)s, to ac- 
quire it, when they sighed to think that ' they who look 
out of the windows were darkened,' and that, while they 



PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. T 

had been instructed how to look, sad shadows had fallen 
on the whole face of nature, and that the time for those 
intuitions was gone forever. But the science of seeing 
has now found favor in our eyes ; and ' blessings are 
with them, and eternal praise,' who can discover, dis- 
cern, and describe the least as the greatest of nature's 
works ; who can see as distinctly the finger of God in 
the lustre of the little humming-bird murmuring round 
a rose-bush, as in that of 'the star of Jove, so beautiful 
and large,' shining sole m heaven." 

As Natural History, when properly taught, is a history 
of the works of the Creator, and thus of the glorious at- 
tributes concerned in their production ; as these works 
embrace a boundless variety and magnificence, the prop- 
er study and observation of them must tend to ennoble and 
exalt the mind, and to improve one's character, and to 
lead us into the angelic pleasure of communion w^ith the 
Great Author of all good — of all that is beautiful, grand, 
harmonious, and admirable in creation ; for they 

" Whom iSTature's works can charm, with God himself 
Hold converse, grow familiar day by day 
With his conceptions, act upon his plan, r 

And form to his the relish of their souls." 

In the study of nature, the aid of modem science 
must be diligently employed, to obtain any thing like a 
full view of her won-derful adaptations, and tendencies, 
and arrangements — a full view of the astonishing dis- 
plays of the wisdom, and power, and goodness of the 
Creator; and hence, for the uneducated reader, various 
scientific explanations of natural ohjects^ phenomena^ 
and operations have been furnished in the notes to this 
edition. But it would be difficult to find a more perti 



b PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 

nent and agreeable illustration of the great advantage 
that may he derived^ in youtli^ from, the study of Thom- 
son's Seasons^ than Caroline Bowles (afterwards Mrs. 
Southey) has furnished, in the charming autobiography 
of her chHdhood, eutitled " The Birth-Day." 

** And was it chance, or thy prevailing taste, 
Beloved instructress ! that selected first 
(Part of my daily task) a portion short, 
Cull'd from thy ' Seasons,' Thomson ?— Happy choice, 
Howe'er directed, happy choice for me ; 
For, as I read, new thoughts, new images 
Thrill'd through my heart, with undefined delight, - 
Awakening so the incipient elements 
Of tastes and sympathies, that with my life 
Have grown and strengthened : often on its course. 
Yes — on its darkest moments, she4jding soft 
That rich, warm glow they only can impart ; 
A sensibility to Nature's charms 
That seems its living spirit to infuse 
(A breathing soul) in things inanimate ; 
To hold communion with the stirring air, 
The breath of flowers, tlie ever-shifting clouds. 
The rustling leaves, the music of the stream ; 
To people solitude with airy shapes. 
And the dark hour, when night and silence reigns, 
"With immaterial forms of other worlds ; 
But, best and noblest privilege ! to feel 
Pervading Nature's all-harmonious whole, 
The great Creator's presence in his works." 

In his beautiful volume, entitled " The Wanderings 
of a Pilgrim," Dr. George B. Cheever offers some ob- 
servations of his own, and quotes some from the pag83 
of John Foster, that seem highly appropriate to be in- 
troduced, in fuller illustration of the subject now in 
hand. He remarks : — " We do not con men's features 



.N AND DESIGN OF THIS P:DiT10N. 9 

one \\ hen we meet them : we learn their hahits, 
thoughts, feelings ; we speak to their souls. And Xa- 
■ ture hath a soul as well as features. But a man's own 
soul must be awakened within him, and not his pleas- 
ure-loving faculties and propensities merely, if he would 
enter into communion with the soul that is in nature. 
Otherwise, it is as with a vacant stare that he sees 
mountains, forests, bright skies, and sounding cataracts 
pass before him ; otherwise, it is like a sleep-walker that 
he himself wanders ^mong them. What is not in him- 
self he finds not in nature ; and as all study is but a 
discipline to call forth our immortal faculties, no good 
will it do the man to range through nature as a study, if 
his inward being be asleep, if his mind be world-rusted 
and insensible. 

- * It were a vain endeavor 
Though I sljould gaze forever 
On that green light that lingers in the west ; 
I may not hope from outward forms to win 
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within/ 

And hence the extreme and melancholy beauty of that 
passage in John Foster's writings, where he speaks of 
the power of extemial nature as an agent in our educa- 
tion^ and laments the inward deficiency in many minds, 
which prevents our * foster-mother' from being able to 
instil into them her sweetest, most exquisite tones and 
lessons. 'It might be supposed,' he says, Uhat the 
scenes of nature, an amazing assemblage of phenomena, 
if their effect were not lost through familiarity, would 
have a powerful influence on all opening minds, and 
transfer into the internal economy of ideas and senti- 
ment something of a character and a color correspondent 

1* 



10 PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 

to the beauty, vicissitude, and grandeur whicli continu- 
ally press on the senses. On minds of genius they often 
have this effect ; and Beattie's Minstrel may be as just 
as it is a fascinating description of the feelings of such a 
mind. But on the greatest number this influence oper- 
ates feebly ; you will not see the process in children, nor 
the result in mature persons. The charms of nature are 
objects only of sight and hearing, not of sensibility and 
imagination. And even the sight and hearing do not 
receive impressions sufficiently distinct and forcible for 
clear recollection ; it is not, therefore, strange that these 
impressions seldom go so much deeper than the senses 
as to awaken pensiveness or enthusiasm, and fill the 
mind with an interior permanent scenery of beautiful 
images at its own command. -This defect of fancy and 
sensibility. is unfortunate amid a creation infinitely rich 
with grand and beautiful objects, which, imparting some 
thing more than images to a mind adapted and habitua- 
ted to converse with nature, inspire an exquisite senti- 
ment, that seems like the emanation of a spirit residing 
in them. It is unfortunate, I have thought within these 
few minutes, while looking out on one of the most enchant- 
ing niglits of the most interesting season of the year, and 
hearing the voices of a company of persons, to whom I 
can perceive that this soft and solemn shade over the 
earth, the calm sky, the beautiful stripes of. cloud, the 
stars, and the waning moon just risen, are all blank and 
indiflPerent.' " 

Besides the Natural History, most beautifully and 
poetically treated in this Poem throughout, and its adap- 
tation, from this source, to produce ennobling thoughts 
of the Creator, and to lead us to the sublime habit of 
religious communion with him through the medium of 



PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 11 

his varied works, there are many otlier aspects of this 
noble production that commend it to our careful study, 
and which will be exhibited in the account 'that is given 
in the following pages of the general structure of the 
Poem, from the skilful pen of Dr. Aikin. To an Essay 
of this distinguished scholar and critic, on Thomson's 
Seasons, I have also been indebted for most of the valu- 
able "Remarks" that are placed before each of the 
" Seasons." 

It deserves special notice that the Poem ahoiinds in 
hrief hut admirable sketches of a large niiviber of the 
most distinguished men of ancient and modern times — 
philosophers, statesmen, poets, warriors, and kings : 
these sketches are rendered more complete and instruc- 
tive by the supplementary matter furnished in the Notes 
of the present edition. 

The ''''Critical Ohserxatioyis^'' illustrative of the genius 
and character ofthepoet^ and which have been carefully 
gathered from the writings of men of a highly cultivated 
taste, constitute another feature of this edition which 
will commend it to the intelligent reader, and prepare 
him for a more eager and advantageous perusal of this 
great and noble Poem. 

Some disaj^pointment, possibly, may be felt, on ob- 
serving that no professed memoir of the amiable poet 
is here provided ; but in place of it, I have judged it 
best, as his life is somewhat barren of incident, to scat- 
ter about in the notes such particulars relating to his 
character and history as were deemed sufficiently inter- 
esting ; and have thus accomplished the double purpose 
of exhibiting the poet, and of illustrating at the same 
time several passages in his Poem. -Indeed (as Dr. Mur- 
dock remarks), " as for his more distinguishing qualities 



12 PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 

of mind and heart, tliey are better represented in Jiia 
wi'itings than they can be bj the pen of any biogra- 
pher. There, his love of mankind, of his country "and 
friends, his devotion to the Supreme Being, founded on 
the most elevated and just conceptions of his operations 
and providence, shine out in every page. He took no 
part in the poetical sq^uabbles which happened in his 
time, and was respected and left undisturbed by both 
sides. He would even refuse to take offence when he 
justly might, by interrupting any personal story that 
was brought to him, w^itli some jest, or some humorous 
apology for the offender. Nor was he ever seen ruffled 
or discomposed, but when he read or heard of some ila 
grant instance of injustice, oppression, or cruelty: then, 
indeed, the strongest marks of horror and indignation 
were visible in his countenance. These amiable vir- 
tues, this divine temper of mind, did not fail of their 
reward. His friends loved him w4th an enthusiastic ar- 
dor, and lamented his untimely fate : the best and 
greatest men of his time honored him with their friend- 
ship and protection." 

Among these, the Hon. George Lyttleton expressed 
his high regard for Thomson in the Prologue which he 
wrote for the poet's posthumous tragedy*of " Coriolanus," 
in 1749, soon after the author's decease ; and which was 
most feelingly delivered by Mr. Quin, another personal 
friend of Thomson's. The following lines form a part 
of the Prologue : 

" I come not here your candor to implore 
For scenes, whose author is, alas ! no more ; 
He wants no advocate his cause to plead ; 
You will yourselves be patrons of the dead. 
No party his benevolence confined, 
No sect ; — alike it flowed to all mankind 



plan: and design of this edition. 13 

He loved his friends — forgive the gushing tear 

Alas ! I feel I am no actor here. 

He loved his friends with such a warmth of heart, 

So clear of interest, so devoid of art, 

Such generous friendship, such unsliaken zeal, 

No words 'can speak it, but our tears can telL 

Oh candid truth, oh faith without a stain — 

Oh manners gentlj firm, and noblj plain — 

Oh sympathizing love of others' bliss, 

Where will you find another breast like his ? 

Such was tlie Man — the Poet well you know, 

Oft has he touched yom* hearts with tender woe : 

Oft in this crowded house, with just applause. 

You heard him teach fair Virtue's purest laws ; 

For his chaste Muse employed her heaven-taught lyre 

None but the noblest passions to inspire — 

Not one itnmoral, one corrupted thought — 

One line, which dying he could wish to blot.'' 

At the request of Lord Buclian, Eobert Burns, the 
Bweet poet of Scotland, prepared the following stanzas 
in memory of Thomson. The author seems to have felt 
that they are not equal to the subject he would honor, 
as he accompanied them with the following statements : 
" Your Lordship hints at an Ode for the occasion ; but 
who would write after Collins ? I read over his verses 
to the. memory of Thomson, and despaired. I attempted 
three or four stanzas in the way of Address io the Shade 
of the Bard^ on crowning his bust. I \ Diible your 
Lordship with the inclosed copy of them, ^ hich I am 
afraid will be but too convincing a proof how unequal 
I am to the task you would obligingly assign me." 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood. 

Unfolds her tender mantle green, 
Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 

Or tunes the iEolian strains between *, 



14: PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 

While Sunnner with u matron grace 

Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 
Yet oft delighted stops to trace 

The progress of the spiky blade ; 

While Atitumn, benefactor kind, 

By Tweed erects her aged head. 
And sees, with self-approving mind, 

Each creature on her bounty fed ; 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence classic Yarrow flows, 
Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping wild a waste of snows ; 

So long, sweet poet of the Year, 
Shall bloom that wreath thou well hast won. 

While Scotia with exulting tear 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son. 

The beautiful Ode of Collins, to which Burns so mod* 
estly alludes above, acquires additional interest from 
what Dr. Murdock states of its author — that he had 
lived some time at Kichmond, but forsook it when Mr. 
Thomson died. This event occurred, at Kew Lane, near 
Eichmond, on the 27th day of August, 1748. The poet's 
remains were interred in Richmond Church, under a 
plain stone, without an inscription ; but in 1792* Lord 
Buchan placed a small brass tablet in that church, bear- 
ing a suitable inscription, and beneath it this beautiful 
extract from the " Winter :" 

" Father of Light and Life ! Thou Good Supreme I 
O teach me what is good ! — teach me Thyself 1 
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, 
Fropn every low pursuit ! and feed my soul 
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure , 
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss 1" 



PLAN A^D DESIG.X OF THIS EDITION. 15 

Having already stated the design and nature of my 
editorial labors, I commend the work to a discerning but 
candid public, in the hope that it may lend to multi- 
tudes essential and needful aid ; enabling them to derive 
from the reading of the Poem ^ar greater advantage and 
satisfaction than, it could afford them without the anno-i 
tations which now accompany it — believing, as I do, 7 
what one of his biographers has so well expressed, that 
Thomson's labors, secure from the revolutions of taste 
or time, are destined to descend with undiminished ad- 
miration to the latest posterity; and that it may with 
confidence be predicted, that future generations, like the- 
last and the present, will have their reverence for the 
God of j^ature excited, and their earliest attachment to 
Nature herself strengthened, by the poet who has sung 
ber in aQ her seasons. 

J. E. B. 

Gswivi N.Y. 



16 I'LAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. ' 

ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON. 

BY COLLINS. 
The Scene on the Bank bfthe Thainea near BiohmcMd, 

In yonder grave a Druid* lies, 

Where slowly winds the stealing wave ]^ 
The Year's best sweets shall duteous rise 

To deck its Poet's sylvan grave. 

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 

His airy harpf shall now be laid, 
That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds, 

May love through life the soothing shade. 

Then maids and youtbs shall linger here. 

And while its sounds at distance swell. 
Shall sadly seem in pity's ear 

To hear the woodland^pilgrim's knelL 

Remerabrance oft shall haunt the shore 

Where Thames in summer wreaths is drest, 

And oft suspend the dashing oar. 
To bid his gentle spirit rest ! 

And oft, as care and health retire 

To breezy lawn ^r forest deep. 
The friend shall view yon whitening spire,:}: 

And mid the varied landscape weep. 

* Druid. This'name properly belongs only to the priests of ancient Britain, many 
of whom were poets. They frequented forests — those of oak especially — where they 
offered sacrifice, and gave instruction to the people. The name is here applied to 
Thomson, as a native poet— a frequenter of rural scenery, and a worshipper there of 
the God of Nature. 

Cowper, in his Table-Talk, has a few lines illustrative of the term now explaiaed : 

" Hence British poets too the priesthood shared, 
And every hallowed Druid was a bard." 
t The JEolian harp. 
X That of Richmond Church, where Thomson was buried. 



PLAN AND DESIGN OF THIS EDITION. 17 

But thou who o-wn'st that earthy bed, 

Ah ! what will every dirge avail ; 
Or tears, whici love and pity shed, 

That mourn beneath the gliding sail ! 
% 
Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye 

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near I 
With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die, 

And joy desert the blooming Year. 

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide 

No sedge-crown'd sisters now attend, 
Now waft me from the green hill's side, 

Whose Cold tm-f hides the buried friend I 

And see, the fairy valleys fade, 

Dun night has veiled the solemn vie'vr: 
Yet once again, dear partechshade, 

Meek Nature's child, again adieu 1 

The genial meads, assigned to bless 

Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom ; 
Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress 

With simple hands thy rural tomb. 

Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay 

Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes: 
Oh ! vales and wild-woods, shall he say. 

In yonder grave your Druid lies I 



CRITICAL OBSEKVATIOJNS 
ON THE GENIUS AND CHARACTER OF THOMSON, 

CHIEFLY AS DISPLAYED IN "THE SEASONS." 



The following observations are drawn from an anony- 
mous Memoir of the poet : 

In the whole range of British ipoeirj, Thomson's " Seasons" 
are perhaps the earhest read, and most generally admired : honce 
it is not necessary to say much on the peculiar character of a 
genius so well known and so often discussed. He was the Poet 
of Nature, and his chief merit consisted in describing her, and 
the pleasure afforded by a contemplation of her infinite and glo- 
rious varieties. Studying her deeply, his mind acquired that 
placidity of thought and feeling which an abstraction from pub- 
he life is sure to generate. She was to him, as he has himself 
said, a source of happiness of which Fortune could not depriv*> 
him: 

" I care not, Fortune, what you me deny ; 
You cann6t rob me of free Nature's grace; 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky, 
Through wliich Aurora shows her brightening fa e ; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
The woods and lawns, by living stream at eve : 
Let health my nerves and finer fibres leave, 
Of fancy, reason, virtue, naught can me bereave.' 

His pictures of scenery and of rural life are the productions 
of a master,^and render him the Claude of poets. The " Sea- 
sons" are the first book from which we are taught to worship the 



20 ~ CKITICAL OTJSKRVATIONS. 

godili^ss to whos^ service the Bard of Ednam devoted liimself ; 
and vv'ho is theie tliat has reflected on the magnificence of an 
extended hindscape, viewed the sun as he emerges from the hori- 
zon, or witnessed tlie setting of that glorious orb when he leaves 
the world to reflection and repose, and does not feel his descrip- 
tions rush upon the mind, and heighten his enjoyment? 

It has been said that the style of that work is pompous, and 
that it contains many faults. The remark is partially true. His 
style is in some places monotonous from its unvaried elevation ; 
but to him Nature was a subject of the profoundest reverence, 
and he, doubtless, considered that she ought to be spoken of 
with solemnity; though it is evi^lent, from one of his verses, 
which is often cited, that he was aware that simplicity is the 
most becoming garb of majesty and beauty. 

Another objection to the " Seasons" is, that they contain fre- 
quent digressions, and, notwithstanding that it is made by an 
authority, from which it may be presumptuous to dissent, the 
justice of the observation cannot, perh.ips, be established. Every 
one who has rend them will admit that the history of Celadon 
and Amelia, and of Lavinia, for example, have aflbrded as much 
pleasure as any other parts ; and a poem, descriptive of scenery, 
storms, and sunshine, requires the introduction of human beings 
to give it life and animation. A painter is not censured for add- 
ing figures to a landscape, and he is only required to render 
them graceful, and to make them harmonize with his subject. 
The characters in the "Seasons" are all in keeping: a gleaner 
is as necessary to a harvest-field, as a lover tb a romance ; and 
it seems hypercritical to say that there should be nothing of in- 
terest in the lives of the inhabitants of the villages or hamlets 
which are alluded to. Arkother test of the soundness of this 
criticism is, to inquire, whether that work does not owe its chief 
popularity to those very digressions. Few persons will read a 
volume, however beautiful the descriptions which it contains, 
unless they are relieved by incidents of human hfe ; and if it 
were };Ossible to strip the " Seasons" of every passage not strict- 



CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS. 21 

ly relevant, they would lose their chief attractions, and soon be 
thrown aside. 

One charm of poetry is, that it often presents a vivid picture 
of the idiosyncrasy of an author's mind, and this is most con- 
spicuous in the episodes to the immediate subject of his labors. 
The chain of thought which led him astray may not unfrequenlly 
be discovered, and it is on such occasions, chiefly, that those 
splendid emanations which become aphorisms to future ages are 
produced. Genius seems then to cast aside all the fetters which 
art imposes, and individual feeling, usurping for the moment 
entire domhiion, the lady who has cheered his hopes, or the co- 
quette who has abandoned hin^ his friend or his enemy, as either 
may occur to his imagination, is sure to be commemorated in 
words glowing with the fervor of inspiration. Whilst he pur- 
sues the thread of his tale, we are reminded of the poet alone, 
and though we may admire his skill, it is only when he breaks 
upon us in some spontaneous burst of passion that we sympa- 
thize with the man, and are excited to kindred enthusiasm. 



The opinions of Dr. Samuel Johnson are next sub- 
mitted : 

As a writer, Thomson is entitled to one praise of the highest 
kind : his mode of thinking, and of expressing his thoughts, is 
original. His blank verse is no more the blank verse of Milton, 
nor of any other poet, than the rhymes of Prior are the rhymes 
of Cowley. His numbers, his pauses, his diction are of his own 
growth, without transcription, without imitation. He thinks in 
a peculiar train, and he always thinks as a man of genius. He 
looks round on nature and on life with the eye which nature 
bestows only on a poet — the eye that distinguishes, in every 
thing presented to its view, whatever there is on which im- 
agination can delight to be detained, and with a mind that at 
once comprehends the vast, and attends to the minute. The 
reader of the ** Seasons" wonders that he never saw before what 



22 CRITICAL obsp:kvations. 

Thomson shows him, and that he never yet has felt what Th( m- 
son impresses. 

His is one of the works in which blank verse seems properly 
used. Thomson's wide expansion of general views, and his enu- 
meration of circumstantial varieties, would have been obstructed 
and embarrassed by the frequent intersection of the sense, which 
is the necessary eflfect of rhyme. 

His descriptions of extended scenes and general eflfects bring 
before us the whole magnificence of nature, whether pleasing or 
dreadful. The gayety of Spring, the splendor of Summer, the 
tranquillity of Autumn, and the horror of Winter, take, in their 
turns, possession of the mind. The poet leads us through the 
appearances of things as they are successively varied by the vi- 
cissitudes of the year, and imparts to us so much of his own 
enthusiasm, that our thoughts expand Avith his imagery and 
kindle with his sentiments. Nor is the naturalist without his 
part in the entertainment ; for he is assisted to re-collect and to 
combine, to range his discoveries, and to amplify the sphere of 
his contemplation. 

The great defect of the " Seasons" is want of method ; but 
for this I know not that there was any remedy. Of many ap- 
pearances subsisting all at once, no rule can be given why one 
should be mentioned before another ; yet the memory wants the 
help of order, and curiosity is not excited by suspense or expec- 
tation. 

His diction is in the highest degree florid and luxuriant, such 
as may be said to be to his images and thoughts, ** both their 
lustre and their shade;" such as invest them with splendor, 
through which, perhaps, they are not always easily discerned. 
It is too exuberant, and sometimes may be charged with filling 
the ear more than the mind. 

The highest praise which he has received ought not to be 
suppressed. It is said by Lord Lyttleton, in the Prologue to hia 
posthumous play, that his works contained 

" No line which, dying, he could wish to blot." 



CIllTICAL OBSEliVATIONS. 23 

Allan C'unningliam, a neighbor of Robert Bums, a 
vigorous prose writer, a composer of Scottish verses, and 
an editor of several poetical works, has furnished in his 
excellent biography of Thomson, the foUowmg estimate 
of his characteristics as a poet, and of the " Seasons" as 
one of his best productions : 

Thomson is an original poet of the first order ; and what is 
not always true of originality, one of the most popular in our 
literature. In loftiness of thought, and poetic glow of lan- 
guage, few have reached him : the march of his Muse is in mid- 
air ; she rarely alights, but moves on, continuous and sustained ; 
and in this constant elevation he resembles Spenser more than 
any other poet ; in sweetness of fancy, in gentleness of soul, and 
in the natural love of the beautiful and good, the same resem- 
blance may be found. 

Though a scholar, and familiar with all the resources of an- 
cient lore, he rarely allowed learning to get the better of nature : 
he preferred, he said, finding his poetry in the great volume 
which Heaven had opened in earth, and air, and sky, to seeking 
it, with the eyes of others, in the pages of a book ; and con- 
fessed that he found it mOre laborious to imitate the beauties of 
his brethren in song, than to see them in nature, and draw them 
for himself. His heart was full of the true spirit of poetry, and 
his speech was song ; his verse is now and then colored, as one 
flower is by the neighborhood of another, with the hue of classic 
thought ; but he saw all by the charmed light of his own im- 
agination, and purified his taste rather by contemplating the 
sublime sculptures of Greece and the scriptural pictures of Italy, 
^than by the numbers of Homer, or the graces of Virgil. 

The origin of his " Seasons" has been sought for, but not 
found, in the vast body of ancient and modern verse. Other 
poets have loved the shade of the groves ; the odor of the 
flowers, the song of the birds, the melody of streams, the fra- 



24 ciiiTicAi. oboi:kvations. 

grance of fruit-trees and green fields, the wamith of the sun, the 
splendor of the moon and stars ; but no poet, save the insph'cd 
one wlio wrote the eighth Psalm, attempted, like Tliomson, to raise 
the beauties of nature out of the low rej^ions of sensual delif^ht, 
and make them objects of moral grandeur and spiritual contempla- 
tion. Thomson perceived order, unity, and high meaning in the 
loveliest as well as the loftiest things : he loved to observe the 
connection of the animate with the inanimate ; the speechless 
with the eloquent ; and all with God. He saw testimony of 
heavenly intelligence in the swelling sea, the dropping cloud, 
and the rolling thunder ; in earthquake and eclipse ; as well as 
in the presence of Spring on the fields, of Summer on the flow- 
ers, of Autumn in her golden harvest, and of Winter in her frosty 
breatii and her purifying tempests. 

As the seasons are in nature, so he sung them, and in their 
proper order. The poet seems not to have erred (in regard to 
method), as the critic (Dr. Johnson) imagines : he has truly ob- 
served the great order of the seasons, and followed the footsteps 
of Nature, without ascribing to one period of tlie year what be- 
longs to another ; while he has regarded storms. and tempests, 
earthquakes and plagues, as common to all seasons, and < m- 
ployed them accordingly. His language has been called, by 
high authorities, swelling and redundant ; but Thomson, with 
other great poets, held that a certain pomp and measured march 
of words was necessary to elevate verse which sung of the hum- 
ble toils of the shepherd, the husbandman, and the mechanic ; 
and though Campbell prefers the idiomatic simplicity of Cowper, 
and Coleridge his chastity of diction, to the unvaried pomp of 
Thomson, yet both confess their preference of the latter, as a 
lofty and born poet. I beheve this conclusion will be that of all 
who can feel the power, the glow, and the upward flame-like, 
spirit of his poetry. 



CRITICAL OBSKIiV A.TI0N5J. 25 

From Chambers' Cyclopedia of English Litei'ature tho 
succeeding account of Thomson is selected : 

The publication of the *' Seasons" was an important era in 
the history of English poetry. So true and beautiful are the 
descriptions in .the poem, and so entirely do they harmonize with 
those fresh feelings and glowing impulses which all would wish 
to cherish, that a love of Nature seems to be synonymous with 
a love of Thomson. It is difficult to conceive a person of edu- 
cation, imbued with an admiration of rural or woodland sceneiy, 
not entertaining a strong affection and regard for that delightful 
poet, who has painted their charms with so much fidelity and 
enthusiasm. The same features of blandness and benevolence, 
of simplicity of design, and beauty of form and color, which we 
recognize as distinguishing traits of the natural landscape, are 
seen in the pages of Thomson, conveyed by his artless mind as 
faithfully as the lights and shades on the face of creation. No 
criticism or change of style has, therefore, affected his popular- 
ity. We may smile at sometimes meeting with a heavy monot- 
onous period, a false ornament, or tumid expression, the result 
of an indolent mind working itself up to a great effort, and we 
may wish the subjects of his description were sometimes more 
select and dignified ; but this drawback does not affect our per- 
manent regard or general feeling : our first love remains unal- 
tered, and Thomson is still the poet with whom some of our best 
and purest associations are indissolubly joined. In the ** Sea- 
sons" we have a poetical subject ' poetically treated — filled to 
overflowing with the richest materials of poetry, and the ema- 
nations of benevolence. In the " Castle of Indolence" we have 
the concentration or essence of those materials applied to a sub- 
ject less poetical, but still affording room for luxuriant, fancy, 
the most exquisite art, and still greater melody of numbers. 

The power of Thomson, however, lay not in his art, but in 
the exuberance of his genius, which sometimes required to be 
disciplined and controlled. The poetic glow is spread over all. 

■2 



26 GRrncAL obsekvations. 

He never slackens in bis enthusiasm, nor tires of pointing out 
the phenomena of nature, which, indolent as he was, he had 
surveyed under every aspect till he had become familiar with 
all. Among the mountains, vales, and forests, he seems to 
realize his own words — . 

Man superior walks 
Amid the glad creation, musing praise, 
And looking lively gratitude. 

But he looks also, as Johnson has finely observed, " with the 
eye which nature bestows only on a poet — the eye that distin- 
guishes, in every thing presented to its view, whatever there is 
on which imagination can delight to be detained, and with a 
mind that at once comprehends the vast, and attends to the 
minute." He looks also with a heart that feels for all man- 
kind. His sympathies are universal. His touching allusions 
to the condition of the poor and suffering, to the helpless state 
of bird and beast in winter ; the description of the peasant per- 
ishing in the snow, the Siberian exile, or the Arab pilgrimsT— all 
are marked with that humanity and true feeling which shows 
that the poet's virtues "formed the magic of his song." 

The ardor and fulness of Thomson's descriptions distinguish 
them from those of Cowper, who was naturally less enthusias- 
tic, and who was restricted by his religious tenets, and by his 
critical and classically formed taste. The diction of the "Sea- 
sons" is at times pure and musical ; it is too elevated and am- 
bitious, however, for ordinary themes ; and where the poet de- 
scends to minute description, or to humorous or satirical scenes 
(as in the account of the chase and fox-hunter's dinner in 
" Autumn"), the effect is grotesque and absurd. Mr. Campbell 
has happily said that, " as long as Thomson dwells in the pure 
contemplation of nature, and appeals to the universal poetry of 
the human breast, his redundant style comes to us as something 
venial and adventitious — it is the flowing vesture of the Druid ; 
and })erhapS; to the general experience, is rather imposing ; but 



CRniCAL OBSEEYATIOA^S. 27 

when he returns to the familiar narratives or courtesies of afe, 
the same diction ceases to seem the mantle of inspiration, and 
only strikes us by its unwieldy difference from the common cos- 
tume of expression." Cowper avoided this want of keeping 
between his style and his subjects, adapting one to the other 
with inimitable ease, grace, and variety ; yet only rising in one 
or two instances to the higher flights of Thomson. 



To no critic upon Thomson's genius, and upon the 
" Seasons," have I been more largely indebted than to 
Prof. "Wilson (lately the distinguished occupant of the 
chair of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edin 
burgh), as will be discovered on reading the notes to this 
edition. Besides the admirable criticisms from his i)en 
which are there introduced, the following paragraphs 
will be read with interest and gratification : 

Thomson's genius does not — very, very often — though often — 
delight us by exquisite minute touches in the description of na- 
ture — like that of Cowper. It loves to paint on a great scale — 
and to dash objects off sweepingly by bold strokes — such, in- 
deed, as have almost always marked the genius of the mighty 
masters of the lyre, and the rainbow ! Cowper sets nature be- 
fore your eyes — Thomson before your imagination. Which do 
you prefer? Both. Be assured these poets had pored night 
and day upon nature, in all her aspects, and that she had re- 
vealed herself equally to both. But they, in their religion, de- 
lighted in different rrodes of worship — and both were worthy 
of the mighty mother. In one mood of mind we love Cowper 
best; in another, Thomson. Sometimes the "Seasons" are al- 
most a "Task" — and sometimes the Task is out of senson. 
There is a delightful distinctness in all the pictures of the Bard 



2S CKiriCAL OBSEIIVATIONS. 

of Olney ; glories gloom or glimmer in most of those of the 
.Bard of Ednam. Cowper paints trees ; Thomson, woods. 
Thomson paints, in a few wondrous lines, rivers from source to 
sea, like the mighty Burrampooter ; Cowper, in many no very 
wondrous lines, brightens up one bend of a stream, or awa- 
kens our fancy to the murmur of some single waterfall. 

To what era, pray, did Thomson belong ; and to what era, 
Cowper? To none. Thomson had no precursor — and, till 
Cowper, no follower. He effulged all at once, sun-like — like 
Scotland's storm-loving, mist-enamored sun, which, till you 
have seen on a day of thunder, you cannot be said ever to 
have seen the sun. Cowper followed Thomson merely in 
time. We should have had the " Task," even had we never 
had the " Seasons." These two were " heralds of a mighty 
train issuinor •" ,add them, then, to the worthies of our own 
age, — and they belong to it, — and all the rest of the poetry of 
the modern world — to which add that of the ancient — if mul- 
tiplied by ten in quantity — and by twenty iif quality — would not 
so variously, so vigorously, so magnificently, so beautifully, and 
so truly image the form and pressure, the life and spirit of 
the mother of us all — Nature. Are, then, the "Seasons" and 
the "Task" great poems? Yes. — Why? We presume you 
need not be told that that poem must be great, which was the 
first to paint the rolling mystery of the Year, and to show that 
all its seasons were but " the varied God." The idea was 
original and sublime ; and the fulfilment thereof so complete, 
that some six thousand years having elapsed between the crea- 
tion of the world and of that poem, some sixty thousand, we 
prophesy, will elapse between the appearance of that poem 
and the publication of another equally great, on a subject ex- 
ternal to the mind, equally magnificent. 



Some of the remarks of William Hazlitt, in his Lee- 



CKITICAL OBSEKVATIONS. 29 

hires on the English Poets, will now be added — as con- 
tributing to the completeness of a full and exact por- 
traiture of- the Idiosyncrasies of Thomson's mind, and 
style as a descriptive poet. 

Thomson is the best of our descriptive poets ; for he gives 
most of the poetry of natural description. Others have been 
quite equal to him, or have surpassed him, as Cowper, for in- 
stance, in the picturesque part of his art, in marking the pe- 
culiar features and curious details of objects ; no one has yet 
come -up to him in giving the sum-total of their effects, their 
varying influences on the mind. He does not go into the mi- 
nutiae of a landscape, but describes the vivid impression wliich 
the whole makes upon his own imagination ; and thus transfers 
the same unbroken, unimpaired impression to the imagination 
of his readers. The colors with which he paints seem yet 
breathing, like those of the living statue in the Winter's Tale.' 
Natui-e, in his descriptions, is seen growing around us, fresh 
and lusty as in itself. We feel the effect of 'the atmosphere, 
its humidity or clearness, its heat or cold, the glow of Summer, 
the gloom of Winter, the tender promise of the Spring, the 
full over-shadowing foliage, the declining poinp and deepening 
tints of Autumn. He transports us to the scorcliing heat of 
vertical suns, or plunges us into the chilling horrors and.desola- 
tion of the frozen zone. We hear the snow drifting against 
the broken casement without, and see the fire blazing on the 
hearth Avithin. The first scattered drops of a vernal shower 
patter on the leaves above our heads, or the coming storm re- 
sounds through the leafless groves. In a word, he describes 
not to the eye alone, but to the other senses, and to the whole 
man. He puts his heart into his subject, writes as he feels, 
and humanizes whatever he touches. He makes all his de- 
Btriptions teem with life and vivifying soul. His faults were 
those of his stjile — of the author and the man ; but the original 



30 CKITICAL OESKRVA'llONS. 

genius of the poet, the pith and marrow of his imagination, 
the fine natural mould in which his feelings were bedded, were 
too much for him to counteract by neglect, or affectation, or 
false ornaments. It is for this reason that he is, perhaps, the 
most popular of all our poets, treating of a subject that all can 
understand, and in a way that is interesting to all alike, to the 
ignorant or the refined, because he gives back the impression 
which the things themselves make upon us in nature. " That," 
said a man of genius, seeing a little shabby, soiled copy of 
Thomson's Seasons lying on the window-seat of an obscure 
country ale-house — " That is true fame !" 



THE PLAN AND CHARACTER OF THE "SEASONS." 



For the discriminating and highly illustrative obser- 
vations that follow upon this topic, I am indebted to the 
pen of Dr. Aikin, the accomplished editor of the British 
Poets ; having extracted them from an Essay which he 
prepared expressly for an elegant edition of the Poem. 
It will be seen, also, that most of the Remarks introduc- 
'*ory to the several "Seasons" have been drawn from 
the same Essay. Whoever shall give these contributions 
from his able pen a careful perusal, will be compensated 
for the labor by a comprehensive and accurate view, and 
a deep impression, also, of what Thomson designed and 
successfully accomplished in this immortal Poem. 

That Thomson's ** Seasons" is the original whence our modern 
descriptive poets have derived that more elegant and correct style 
of painting natural objects which distinguishes them from their 
immediate predecessors, will, I think, appear evident to one who 
examines their several casts and manners. That none of them, 
however, have yet equalled their master ; and that his perform- 
ance is an exquisite piece, replete with beauties of the most en- 
gaging and delightful kind, will be sensibly felt by all of con- 
genial taste ; and perhaps no poem was ever composed which 



addressed itself to the feelings of a greater number of renders. 
It i*, therefore, on every account, an object well worthy the at- 
tention of criticism ; and an inquiry into the peculiar nature 
of its plan, and the manner of its execution, may be an agree- 
able introduction to a r*^ oerusal of it in the elegant edition now 
offered to the public. 

This was the first capital work in which natural description 
was professedly the principal object. To paint the face of na- 
ture as changing through the changing seasons ; to mark the 
approaches, and trace the progress of these vicissitudes, in a 
series of landscapes all formed upon images of grandeur or 
beauty ; and to give animation and variety to the whole, by 
interspersing manners and incidents suitable to the scenery, 
appears to be the general design of this poem. 

Although each of the "Seasons" appears to have been in- 
tended as a complete piece, and contains within itself the nat- 
ural order of beginning, middle, and termination, yet, as they 
were at length collected and modelled by their author, they 
have all a mutual relation to each other, and concur in forming 
a more comprehensive whole. The annual space in which tlie 
earth performs its revolution round the sun is so strongly 
marked by nature for a perfect period, that all mankind have 
agreed in forming their computations of time upon it. In all 
the temperate climates of the globe, the four seasons are so 
many progressive stages in this circuit, which, like the acts in a 
well-constructed drama, gradually disclose, ripen, and bring to 
an end, the various business transacted on the great theatre of 
Nature.- The striking analogy which this period, with its sev- 
eral divisions, bears to the course of human existence, has been 
remarked and pursued by writers of all ages and countries. 
Spring has been represented as the youth of the year — the sea- 
son "of pleasing hope, lively energy, and rapid increase. Summer 
has been resembled to perfect manhood — the season of steady 
v/armth, confirmed strength, and unremitting vigor. Autumn, 
whicli, while it bestows the rich products of full maturity, is 



TLA^ AND CHARACTER OF THE "SEASONS." 3S 

yet ever hastening to decline, has been aptly compared to that 
period when the man, mellowed by age, yields the most valua- 
ble fruits of experience and wisdom, but daily exhibits increasing 
symptoms of decay. The cold, cheerless, and sluggish Winter 
has almost without a metaphor been termed the decrepit and 
hoary old age of the year. Thus the history of the Year, pur- 
sued through its changing seasons, is that of an individual, 
whose existence 'is marked by a progressive course from its 
origin to its termination. It is thus represented by our poet. 
This idea preserves a unity and connection through his whole 
work ; and the accurate observer will remark a beautiful chain 
of circumstances in his description, by which the birth, vigor, 
decline, and extinction of the vital principle of the year, are 
pictured in the most Hvely manner. 

This order and gradation of the whole runs, as has been al- 
ready hinted, through each division of the poem. Every season 
has its incipient, confirmed, and receding state, of whi(^i its his- 
torian ought to give distinct views, arranged according to the 
succession in which they appear. Each, too, like the prismatic 
colors, is indistinguishably blended in its origin and termination 
with that which precedes and which follows it ; and it may be 
expected from the pencil of an artist to hit off these mingled 
shades so as to produce a pleasing and picturesque effect. Our 
poet has not been inattentive to these circumstances in the con- 
duct of his plan. His Spring begins with a view of the season 
as yet unconfirmed, and partaking of the roughness of Winter ; 
and it is not till after several steps in gradual progression, that 
it breaks forth in all its ornaments, as the favorite of Love and 
Pleasure. His Autumn, after a rich, prospect of its bounties 
and splendors, gently fades into " the sere, the yellow leaf," and 
with the lengthened night„the clouded sun, and the rising storm, 
sinks into the arms of Winter. It is remarkable, that in order 
to produce something of a similar effect in his Summer, a season 
which, on account of its uniformity of character, does not admit 
ol any strongly marked gradations, he has comprised the whole 



of his description within the hmits of a single day, pursuing the 
course of the sun from its rising to its setting. A summer's 
day is, in reahty, a just model of the entire season. Its begin- 
ning is moist and temperate ; its middle, sultry and parching ; 
its close, soft and refreshing. By thus exhibiting all the vicis- 
situdes of Summer under one point of view, they are rendered 
much more striking than could have been done in a series of 
feebly contrasted and scarcely distinguishable periods. 

Every grand and beautiful appearance in nature that distin- 
guishes one portion of the annual circuit from another, is a proper 
source of materials for the Poet of the Seasons. Of these, some 
are obvious to the common observer, and require only justness 
and elegance of taste for the selection ; others discover them- 
selves only to the mind opened and enlarged by science and phi- 
iosophy. The most vivid imagination cannot paint to itself 
jscenes of grandeur equal to those which cool science and de- 
.nonstratipn offer to the enlightened mind. Objects so vast and 
jflagnificent as planets rolling with even pace through their orbits, 
comets rushing along their devious track, light springing from 
its unexhausted source, mighty rivers formed in their subterra- 
nean beds, do not require, or even admit, a heightening from the 
fancy. The most faithful pencil here produces the noblest pic- 
tures ; and Thomson, by strictly adhering to the character of the 
Poet of Nature, has treated all these topics with a true sublim- 
ity, which a writer of less knowledge and accuracy could never 
have attained. The strict propriety with which subjects from 
Astronomy and the other parts of Natural Philosophy are in- 
troduced into a poem describing the changes of the seasons, 
need not be insisted on, sipce it is obvious that the primary cause 
of all these changes is to be sought in principles derived from 
these sciences. They are the groundwork of the whole ; and 
establish that connected series of cause and effect, upon which all 
those appearances in nature depend, from whence the descriptive 
poet draws his materials. 
• The correspondrnce l>3tween certain changes in the animal and 



PLAN AND CIIAKACrHR OF THE "SEASONS." 35 

vegetable tribes, and those revolutions of the heavenly bodies 
which produce the vicissitudes of the seasons, is the foundation 
of an alliance between Astronomy and Natural History, that 
equally demands attention, as a matter of curious speculation 
and of practical utility. The astronomical calendar, filled up by 
the Naturalist, is a combination of science at the same time preg- 
nant with important instruction to the husbandman, and fertile 
in grand and pleasing objects to the poet and philosopher. 
Thomson seems constantly to have kept in view a combination 
of this kind ; and to have formed from it such an idea of the 
economy of Nature, as enabled him to preserve a regularity of 
method and uniformity of design through all the variety of his 
descriptions. We shall attempt to draw out a kind of historical 
narrative of his progress through the seasons, as far as this 
order is observed. [This portion of the Essay has been distrib- 
uted to the several Seasons, under the head of Introductory 
Remarks.] 

But the rural landscape is not solely made up of land and 
water, and trees, and birds, and beasts ; Man is a distinguished 
fire in it ; his multipUed occupations and concerns introduce them- 
selves into every part of it ; he intermixes even in the wildest 
and rudest scenes, and throws a life and interest upen every sur- 
rounding object. Manners and character, therefore, constitute a 
part even of a descriptive poem ; and in a plan so extensive as 
the history of the Year, they must enter under various forms, 
and upon numerous occasions. 

The most obvious and appropriate use of human figures in 
pictures of the Seasons, is the introduction of them to assist in 
marking out the succession of annual changes by their various 
labors and amusements. In common with other animals, man is 
directed in the diversified employment of earning a toilsome sub- 
sistence by an attention to the vicissitudes of the seasons, and 
all his diversions in the simpler state of rustic society are also 
regulated by the same circumstance. Thus a series of moving 
figures enlivens the landscape, and contributes to stamp on eatJh 



36 PLAN AND CHARACTER OF THE 

scene its peculiar character. The shepherd, the husbandman, 
the hunter, appear in their turns ; and may be considered as 
natural concomitants of that portion of the yearly round which 
prompts their several occupations. 

' But it is not only the bodily pursuits of man which are affect- 
ed by these changes ; the sensations and affections of his mind 
are almost equally under their influence ; and the result of the 
whole, as forming the enamored votary of Nature to a peculiar 
cast of character and manners, is not less conspicuous. Thus 
the Poet of the Seasons is at liberty, without deviating from his 
plan, to descant on the varieties of moral constitution, and the 
power which external causes are found to possess over the tem- 
per of the soul. He may draw pictures of the pastoral life in 
all its genuine simphcity ; and^ assuming the tone of a moral 
instructor, may contrast the peace and felicity of innocent retire- 
ment with the turbulent agitations of ambition and avarice. 

The various incidents, too, upon which the simple tale of rural 
events is founded, are very much modelled by the difference of 
seasons. The catastroplies of Winter differ from those of Sum- 
mer ; the sports of Spring, from those of Autumn. Thus, Httle 
historic pieces and adventures, whether pathetic or amusing, 
will suggest themselves to the poet ; which, when properly 
adapted to the scenery and circumstances, may very happily 
coincide with the main design of the composition. 

The bare enumeration of these several occasions of introducinoj 
draughts of human life and manners, will be sufficient to call to 
mind the admirable use which Thomson, throughout his whole 
poem, has made of them. He, in fact, never appears more truly 
inspired with his subject than when giving birth to those senti- 
ments of tenderness and beneficence, which seem to have occu- 
pied his whole heart. A universal benevolence extending to 
every pait of the animal creation, manifests itself in almost eveiy 
scene he draws ; and the rural character, as delineated in his 
feelings, contains all the softness, purity, and simplicity that are 
fftsu^ned of the golden age. 



PLAN AND CHAilACTKR OF THE "SEASONS." S\ 

But there is a strain of sentiment of a higher and more di< 
gressive nature, with which Thomson has occupied a considerable 
portion of his poem. The fundamental principles of Moral Plii- 
losophy, ideas concerning the origin and progress of government 
and civilization, historical sketches, and reviews of the characters 
most famous in ancient and modern history, are interspersed 
through various parts of the Seasons. The manly, liberal, and. 
enlightened spirit which this writer breathes in all his works, 
must ever endear him to the friends of truth and virtue ; and, in 
particular, his genuine patriotism and zeal in the cause of liberty 
will render his writings always estimable to the British [and 
American] reader. 

There is another source of sentiment to the Poet of the Sea- 
sons, which, while it is superior to the last in real elevation, is 
also strictly connected with the nature of his work. The gen- 
uine philosopher, while he surveys the grand and beautiful ob- 
jects everywhere surrounding him, will be prompted to lift his 
eye to the great Cause of all these wonders, — the Planner and 
Architect of all this mighty fabric, every minute part of which 
so much awakens his curiosity and admiration. The laws by 
which this Being acts, the ends which He seems to have pur- 
sued, must excite his humble researches ; and in proportion as 
he discovers infinite power in the means, directed by infinite 
goodness in the intention, his soul must be wrapped in astonish- 
ment, and expanded with gratitude. The economy of Nature 
will, to such an observer, be the perfect scheme of an all-wise 
and beneficent mind ; and every part of the wide creation will 
appear to proclaim the praise of its great Author. Thus a new 
connection will manifest itself between the several parts of the 
universe, and a new order and design will be* traced through the 
progress of its various revolutions. 

Thus is planned and constructed a Poem, which, founded as 
it is upon the unfading beauties of Nature, will live as long as 
the language in which it is written shall be rea.i. 



[Fi^O 0^© 



SPRING. 



INTEODUCTOKY KEMAEKS. 

Spring is churacterized as the season of the renovation of 
nature ; in which animals and vegetables, excited by the kindly 
influence of returning warmth, shake off the torpid inaction of 
Winter, and prepare for the continuance and increase of their 
several species. The vegetable tribes, as more independent and 
self-pro\aded, lead the way in this progress. The poet, accord- 
ingly, begins with representing the reviviscent plants emerging, 
as soon as genial showers have softened the ground, in numbers 
** beyond the power of botanists to reckon up their tribes." The 
opening blossoms and flowers soon call forth from their winter 
retreats those industrious insects which derive sustenance from 
their nectarious juices. As the beams of the sun become more 
potent, the larger vegetables, shrubs, and trees unfold tlieir 
leaves ; and, as soon as a friendly concealment is by their means 
provided for the various nations of the feathered race, they joy- 
fully begin the course of laborious, but pleasing occupations, 
which are to eno-aore them duringr the whole season. The de- 
lightful series of pictures, so truly expressive of that genial spirit 
that pervades the spring, which Thomson has formed on the 
variety of circilm^ances attending the Passion of the Groves^ 
cannot escape the notice and admiration of the most neghgent 
eye. Aff"ected by the same soft influence, and equally indebted 
to the renewed vegetable tribes for food and shelter, the several 
kinds of quadrupeds are represented as concurring in the celebra- 
tion of this charming season with conjugal and parental rights. 



12 SPKING INTUODUOTOKY REMAKKS. 

Even Man himself, thouo-h from his social condition less under 
the dominion of physical necessities, is properly described as 
partaking of the general ardor. Such is the order and connec- 
tion of this whole book, that it might well pass for a commen- 
tary upon a most beautiful passage in the philosophical poet, 
Lucretius (Lib. I. 251-262), who certainly wanted nothing but 
a better system and more circumscribed subject, to have ap- 
peared as one of the greatest masters of description in either 
ancient or modern poetry. 



Spriitg* 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The sub'ect prop'^sed. — Inscribed to the Countess of Hertford. — Tlie Season Is de- 
Bcrihed as it affi cts the various parts of Nature, ascending from the lower to the 
higher; with digressions arising from the subject. — Its influence on inanimate Matter, 
on Vegetables, on brute Animals, and last on Man; concluding with a dissua.sivo from 
the wild and irregular passion of Love, opposed to that of a pure and happy kind. 



Come, gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness, come ; 
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud. 
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower 
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 

1. Come, (fee. : Spring is here poetically addressed as a person, and 
invited to come forth from a rain-cloud, amidst the music of birds 
awaking from the long silence of winter, and " veiled in a shower of 
shadowing roses," because these are among the most beautiful products 
of the season. She is described also as ethereal Mildness, to indicate 
her peculiarly gentle character in contrast with the stern rigor of the 
season that precedes her. 

The exuberance of Fancy displayed in this first paragraph greatly 
offends the critical taste of Hazlitt, who, witli his usual extravagance) 
remarks, that Thomson " fills up the intervals of true inspiration with 
the most vapid and worthless materials, pieces out a beautiful hal;-line 
with a bombastic allusion, or overloads an exquisitely natural sentiment 
or image with a cloud of painted, pompous, cumbrous phrases, like the 
shoioer of roses in which he represents the Spring, his own lovely, fresh, 
and innocent Spring, as descending to the earth." " Who" (he adds), 
" from such a flimsy, roundabout, unmeaning commencement as tliis, 
would expect the delightful, imexaggerated, liome-felt descriptions of 



M SPRING. - ' 

Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts 
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain 6 

With innocence and meditation join'd 
In soft assemblage, listen to my song, 

natural scenery, which are scattered in such unconscious profusion 
through this and the following cantos ! For instance, the very next 
passage is crowded with a set of striking images," 

It will be a sufficient offset to the above effusion of Hazlitt concern- 
ing this introduction to " Spring," to place beside it the observations of 
Prof Wilson, the distinguished poet and critic of Scotland. " That pic- 
ture is indistinctly and obscurely beautiful to the imagination, and tliere 
is not a syllable about sex — though ' ethereal Mildness,' which is an im- 
personation, and hardly an impersonation, must be, it is felt, a virgin 
goddess, whom all the divinities that dwell between heaven and earth 
must love, Never, to our taste, had poem a more beautiful beginning. 
It is not simple ; nor ought it to be : it is rich, and even gorgeous — for 
the bard came to his subject full of inspiration ; and as it was the in- 
spiration, here, not of profound thought, but of passionate emotion, it 
was right that music at the very first moment should overflow the 
page, and that it should be literally strewed with roses. An imperfect 
impersonation is often proof positive of the highest state of poetical 
enthusiasm. Tlie forms of nature undergo a half-humanizing process 
under the intensity of our love, yet still retain the character of the in- 
sensate creation, thus affecting us with a sweet, strange, almost bewil- 
dermg, blended emotion that scarcely belongs to either separately, but 
to both together clings as to a phenomenon that only the eye of geniu3 
sees, because only the soul of genius can give it a presence — though 
afterwards all eyes dimly recognize it, on its being shown to them, as 
something more vivid than their own faint experience, yet either kindred 
to it, or virtually one and tlie same," 

One of the most remarkable characteristics of this poem is the great 
frequency and beauty of the instances of Personification, or Prosopopoeia, 
which it contains — a figure of speech in which the external form, the 
sentiments, the language, or acts, of an animated, sentient being are at- 
tributed to an inanimate, irrational one. For a second example, we 
have to look no farther than to the eleventh line, where commences an 
admirable personification of Winter. A much more full and peifect 
instance, however, is furnished at the opening of " Summer" — to which 
the reader is referred. 

The several parts of this poem are not arranged in the order of their 
original publication, which was the following : — Winter, Summer, Spring, 
Autumn, These made their appearance, respectively, in tlie years 1126, 
1127 1128, and L730. 



SPRING. 45 

Which thy own Season paints ; when Nature all 

Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. 10 

And see where surly Winter passes off, 
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts : 
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, 
The shatter'd forest, and the ravaged vale ; 
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, 15 

Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, 
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. 

As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, 
And Winter of£ at eve resumes the breeze, 
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 20 

Deform the day delightless : so that scarce 



The progress of man's life (says Cunningham) has often been com- 
pared to that of the Year ; and Thomson, it is likely, regarded this sub- 
ject in that hght, when, at the happy suggestion of Mallet, he resolved 
^o unite the four " Seasons" into one continuous poem ; making " hoary 
Winter" the conclusion, and infant Spring the commencement. On 
Spring he therefore calls ; she descends, amid moisture from above, and. 
music from below ; and as she comes, Winter withdraws his snow frona 
the hill, and his winds from the leafless woods, and leaves with reluc- 
tance the scene to his successor — (27-43). 

5. Hertford : The Countess of Hertford, to whom this " Season" 
was originally dedicated by the poet. She was the wife of Algernon, 
then Earl of Hertford, afterwards Duke of Somerset. To her generous 
intercession Savage the poet, condemned for murder, owed his pardon. 
She was not only a patroness of poets, but herself the writer of several 
poems in Dr. Watts' Miscellanies, there attributed to Eusebia. Her 
letters to Dr. Isaac Watts, published in the Elegant Epistles, vol. v., 
give us a favorable opinion of her piety, amiableness, and intellectual 
culture. Thomson's Dedication intimates that his "Spring" was written 
under the encouragement, and in the hope of her needed patronage. 
He had the honor of passing one summer as a guest at her country 
seat, it being usually her practice to invite some poet to pass that sea- 
son with her, to aid her in her poetical studies. She was an intimate 
friend of the devout Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe. The compliments which 
Thomson pays to her, both in the original dedication and in the text, 
appear not to have been undeserved. His previous publication of 
Winter was the means of securing t > him her favorable regard, besides 
that of several otlier diatinguislaed characters* 



46 Sl'KTNO. 

The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulf d, 

To shake the sounding marsh ; or from the shore 

The plovers, when to scatter o'er the heath, 

And sing their wild notes to the list'ning waste. 25 

INFLUENCE OF SPRING ON INANIMATE MATTER. 

At last from Aries rolls the bounteous Sun, 
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more 
Th' expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold ; 
But, full of life and vivifying soul, 

Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin, 30 
Fleecy, and white o'er all surrounding heaven. 

Forth fly the tepid airs ; and unconfined, 
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 



22. The bittern belongs to the class of birds called Grallce, or Waders, 
having very long legs, which fit them to wade in water. The genua 
Ardeidce embraces Cranes, Storks, and Herons. These latter differ from 
cranes in being carnivorous ; also in having larger Haills and longer legs. 
They have also more beautiful plumage and elegant crests. They build 
their nests in company, usually in trees near river-banks, but generally 
feed and live apart. They hve chiefly upon fish, which they secure by 
piercing them with their long and sharp bills. To the heron tribe be- 
long the bittern and the egret, both of which are natives of Britain, 

24, The plover tribe behmgs also to the Waders, but it is less aquatic 
than most of the other species. They occupy, for the most part, sandy 
and unsheltered shores or upland moors. They congregate in flocks, ami 
run at a rapid rate. They live on worms, which they bring towards the 
surface of the ground by patting on it with their feet. The plover is 
not confined to Britain, but is widely distributed. 

26. Aries : That portion of the Zodiac which the Sun appears to enter 
on the 21st of March, The next Sign which receives him, a month af- 
terwards, is Taurus, or the bright Bull, so called from the brilliancy of 
the stars in and near it. 

30. Sublime, for sublimely. It is a practice with poets frequently to 
use the adjective adverbially, to modify the idea expressed by the verb 
or phrase to which it may stand related. It is a very convenient and 
beautiful peculiarity of our language that it admits of such a substi- 
tution. 



SPRING. 



Jo3^oiis, th' impatient husbandman perceives 
Relenting Nature, and his lusty steers 35 

Drives from tlieir stalls, to where the well-used plough 
Lies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost. 
There unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke 
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, 
Cheer'd by the simple song and soaring lark. 40 

Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share 
The master leans, removes th' obstructing clay, 
Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. 
While thro' the neighboring fields the sower stalks. 
With measured step ; and liberal throws the grain 45 

Into the faithful bosom of the ground. 
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. 
Be gracious, Heaven ! for now laborious man 
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow ; 
Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend ! 50 

And temper all, thou woi-ld-reviving Sun, 
Into the perfect year ! Nor ye, Avho live 
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride, 
Think these lost themes, unworthy of your ear : 
Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 55 

^ 43. Winds the whole work: The English method of ploughing consists 
in first running a burrow througli the centre of a field, and then takinc. 
off successive furrows on either side by passing with the plough round 
and round that first furrow. 

46-52. " The farmer now commits liis seed-corn to the furrow • the 
harrow follows, and shuts the scene; and the poet calls on lenient airs 
and gentle warmth to bring their aid to the labors of man." 

55. Maro : Publius Virgilius Maro, the great Latin poet, author of 
the ^neid and the Georgics, was born B. C. 70, in the village of Andes 
near Mantua, in Italy. His "Georgics" is an exquisite and most elabo-' 
rate poem, treating upon Agriculture, and one that greatly interested 
the Emperor Augustus. In allusion to this, his most finished produc- 
tion, and to his Eclogues, or Pastoral Poems, our autlior very properly 
styles him the rural poet. 

From the time of Romulus (says Dunlap) to that of Oasar. agriculture 



48 SPRING* 

To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height 
Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. 
In ancient times, the sacred plough employ'd 
The kings, and awful fathers of mankind. 
And some, with whom compared your insect tribes 60 

Are but the beings of a summer's day. 
Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm 
' Of mighty war ; then, with unwearied hand, 
Disdaining httle dehcacies, seized 

The plough, and greatly independent lived. 65 

Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough ! 



had been the chief care of the Romans. Its operations were conducted 
by the greatest statesmen, and its precepts inculcated by the profound 
est scholars. The long continuance, however, and crilel ravages of the 
civil wars, had now occasioned an almost general desolation. In these 
circumstances, Maecenas resolved, if possible, to revive the decayed spirit 
of agriculture, to recall the lost habits of peaceful industry, and to make 
rural improvement, as it had been in former times, the prevailing amuse- 
ment among the great ; and he wisely judged that no method was so 
likely to contribute to these important objects as a recommendation of 
agriculture by all the insinuating charms of poetiy. At his suggestion, 
accordingly, Virgil commenced his Georgics — a poem as remarkable for 
majesty and magnificence of diction as tha Eclogues are for sweetness 
and harmony of versification. 

60. And some, &c. : Among other instances may be mentioned the 
familiar one of L. Quintius Cincinnatus, who was engaged in plougliing 
his own fields when called to the Dictatorship at Rome, and after deliv- 
ering his country from great peril, and- enjoying a great militarv tri- 
umph at Rome, in a few days returned contentedly to the quiet of his 
farm. American^ history can produce many examples of elevation to 
the highest offices from the pursuits of agriculture ; and of a dignified 
descent, when the term of office had expired, to rural retirement. 
Washington is the most illustrious instance. 

66. Venerate the plough: In the early and best days of the Roman 
Republic (says Dr. Duncan), the plough was venerated ; and often was it 
followed by consuls and laurelled commanders. While commerce, with 
its subsidiary arts, was despised, the cultivation of the soil was thought 
in every respect worthy of Roman dignity; and hands that one day 
swayed the rod of empire, on the next were guiding the plough in 
6omc suburban farm. We see a Cincinnatus and a Fabricius, notwith- 



sriiiNG. 49 

And o'er your hills and long withdrawing vales. 

Let Autumn spread his treasures to the Sun, 

Luxuriant and unbounded. As the sea, 

P ar through his azure turbulent domain, 70 

Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores 

Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports ; 

So with superior boon may your rich soil, 

Exuberant. Nature's better blessings pour 

O'er every land, the naked nations clothe, 75 

And be th' exhaustless granary of a world ! 

INFLUENCE OF SPRING ON VEGETABLE MATTER. 

Nor only through the lenient air this change 
Dehcious breathes : the penetrative Sun, 
His force deep darting to the dark retreat 
Of vegetation, sets the steaming Power 80 

At large, to wander o'er the verdant earth. 
In various hues ; but chiefly thee, gay green ! 
Thou smiling Nature's universal robe ! 
United light and shade ! where the sight dwells 
With growing strength and ever new delight. 85 

From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill. 
Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, 
And swells and deepens to the cherish'd eye. 



■landing their warlike glory, devoted to agriculture, as if it were the 
great business of their lives ; and a .Cato testifying his love of that no- 
blest of the arts, by writing an elaborate treatise on rustic affairs. 

SO, Steaming Power : This epithet is applied to vegetation, or the 
principle of growth in plants and trees, and is poetically represented 
as wandering over the earth in various hues, after its wintry confinement 
in the frozen ground. It is difficult to determine why it should be called 
the steaming Power, unless from the fact that it comes forth or develops 
itself, under the warming influences of the spring sun, in the midsi of 
vapor and exhalations from the earth. 

3 



60 SPRING. 

The hawthorn wliitens, and the juicy groves 

Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, 90 

Till the whole leafy forest stands displayed. 

In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales ; 

Where the deer rustle through the twining brake. 

And the birds sing conceal'd. At once array'd 

In all the colors of the flushing year, 96 

By Nature's swift and secret working hand. 

The garden flows, and fills the liberal air 

With lavish fragrance ; while the promised fruit 

Lies yet a little embryo, unperceived. 

Within its crimson folds. Now from the town, 100 

Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps, 

Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields, 

Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops 

From the bent bush, as through the verdant maze 

Of sweetbriar hedges I pursue my walk ; 105 

Or taste the smell of dairy ; or ascend 

Some eminence, Augusta, in thy plains. 

And see the country, far diff'used around. 

One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower 

Of mingled blossoms ; where the raptured eye 110 

Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneath 

The fair profusion, yellow Autumn spies 

89. The hawthorn : This shrub or small tree is much used for hedges, 
particularly in Great Britain, and adds greatly to the beauty of tlie 
rural districts. 

93. 77ie twining brake : This is a species of fern, delighting in a m^ist 
eoil and shady places. The kind here referred to is one that twists or 
winds the stem around neighboring objects. 

100. Tlie town : Reference is probably made to London, to which the 
description pre-eminently answers, and where, it is well known, the poet 
passed much of his time after he became an author. 

10*7. Augusta : Some rural district, perhaps, in the vicinity of Lon 
don ; or it may stand for London itself, the ancient Latin name of whirl 
was Augusta Trinobantum. The description of the vernal scene pr*> 
Dented in the following lines is exceedingly grapliic 



sPRmG. 51 

If, brush'd from Russian wilds, a cutting g-ale 

Rise not, and scatter from his humid wings 

The clammy mildew; or, dry blowing, breathe 115 

Untimely frost ; before whose baleful blast 

The full-blown Spring through all her foliage shrinks 

Joyless and dead, a wide dejected waste. 

For oft, engender'd by the hazy north. 

Myriads on myriads, insect armies warp 120 

Keen in the poison'd breeze ; and wasteful eat, 

Through buds and bark, into the blacken'd core, 

Their eager way. A feeble race ! yet oft 

The sacred sons of vengeance ; on whose course 

CoiTOsive Famine waits, and kills the year. 125 

To check this plague, the skilful farmer chaff. 

And blazing straw before his orchard burns ; 

Till, all involved in smoke, the latent foe 

From every cranny suffocated falls : • 

Or scatters o'er the blooms the pungent dus' 130 

Of pepper, fatal to the frosty tribe : 

Or, when th' envenom'd leaf begins to curl 

With sprinkled water drowns them in their jest : 

Nor, while they pick them up wnth busy b.il, 

The little trooping birds unwisely scares. 135 



120. Warp : Thus Milton— 

"A pitchy cloud 
Of locusts warping on the eastern wind." — Par. I^st, Bk. i., S40. 

124. Sacred sons of vengeance: Insects, by tlieir vast numbers 
and voracity, often make dreadful havoc on the fruits and foliage, such 
as not unfrequenlly has produced the calamity of famine and of pesti- 
lence. Sacred History supplies many instances in which the insect 
tribes have been made the instruments of Divine Providence in chas- 
tising guilty nations for their immoralities and idolatry. Secular history 
is also full of similar examples, in which the insect races have been con- 
Ktituted the "sacred sons of vengeance." 

135. The important offices performed by little birds in devouring de- 
structive insects deserve remark ; while, on the other hand, it may be 
observed, that various kinds of insects render service to man by the 



53 srniTs^o. 

Be patient, sivains ; these cruel-seeming winds 
Blow not in vain. Far hence they keep repress'd 
Those deep'ning clouds on clouds, surcharged with rain. 
That, o'er the vast Atlantic hither borne 
Jn endless train, would quench the summer blaze, 140 

And, cheerless, drown the crude unripen'd year. - 

The north-east spends his rage ; he now shut up 
Within his iron cave, th' effusive south 
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven 
Breathes the big clouds, with vernal showers distent. 145» 
As first, a dusky wreath they seem to rise, 
Scarce staining ether ; but, by swift degrees, 
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapor sails 
Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep 
Sits on the horizon round a settled gloom : 150 

Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed. 
Oppressing life ; but lovely, gentle, kind. 
And full of every hope and every joy. 
The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the breeze 
Into a perfect calm ; that not a breath 155 

Is heard to quiver through the closing woods. 
Or rustlino; turn the raanv-twinklincy leaves 
Of aspen tall. Th* uncurling floods, diffused 
In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse 
Forgetful of theii- course. 'Tis silence all, 160 

And pleasing expectation. Jlerds and flocks 



removal of decomposing substances that would poison the air and in- 
duce diseases. As an example of the capacity which some possess for 
such a service, it is said that, as a consequence of individual voracity and 
rapid increase of numbers, three flesh-flies and their immediate progeny, 
according to a calculation made by Linnseus, are able to devour the car- 
cass of a horse in less time than a lion could do it. It may be added, 
that a check is happily put upon the excessive multiphcation of insects, 
by the attacks made upon them by other tribes of animals, and by their 
wars upon their own tribes. 



SPKIXG. 63 

Drop the dry sprig, and mute imploring eye 
The falhng verdure. Hush'd in short suspense. 
The pkimy people streak their wings with oilj 
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off; 1G5 

And wait th' approaching sign to strike, at once. 
Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales. 
And forests seem impatient to demand 
The promised sweetness. Man superior walks 
Amid the glad creation, musing praise, 1^0 

And looking lively gratitude. At last. 
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields ; 
a\nd, softly shaking on the dimpled pool 
Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, 
In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world. • ifs 

The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard 
By such as wander through the forest walks. 
Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves. 
But who can hold the shade, v/hile Heaven descends 
In universal bounty, shedding herbs 180 

And fruits and flowers on Nature's ample lap ? 
Swift Fancy fired anticipates their growth ; 
And, while the milky nutriment distils, 
Beholds the kindling country color I'ound. 
Thus, all day long, the fall-distended clouds 185 

f Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth 
Is deep enrich'd with vegetable life ; 
Till, in the western sky, the downward sun 
. Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush 
'' Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. 190 

The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes 
Th' illumined mountain, through the forest streams, 

167-184. Rain is now required to help the quickening fruits, and tl*^ 
poet paints, with singular beauty, the birds in the wood, the cattle on 
the hill, and the thirsty fields themselves, desii-ing the fall of the now 
gathering shower.— -C. 



54 SPKIXG. 

Sluikes on the floods, and in a yellow mist. 

Far smoking o'er tli' interminable plain, 

In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. 195 

Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around. 

Full swell the woods : their very music wakes, 

Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks 

Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills. 

And hollow lows responsive from the vales ; 200 

Whence blending all, the sweeten'd zephyr springs. 

Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, 

Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow 

Shoots up immense ; and every hue unfolds. 

In fair proportion running from the red 205 

To where the violet fades into the sky. 

Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds 

Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism ; 

And to the sage-instructed eye unfold 

The various twine of light, by tliee disclosed 210 

From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy : 

He wondering views the bright enchantment bend 

Delightful o'er the radiant fields, and runs 

To catch the falling glory ; but amazed. 



20*7. Awful Newton : So called from the uncommon respect which his 
great talents and discoveries command and inspire. The fact that whit\ 
light is not simple, but compounded of seven colors, he verified by means 
of a glass prism : he resolved the various ticine, or twist, or combination 
of the rays that compose whit'e light — the white commingling maze. 
The prism of nature is the falling shower, the dissolving clouds, acting 
upon which, the sun produces the magnificent spectrum of the Rainbow. 
Tlie speculations of the uneducated boy upon this brilliant phenomenon 
are finely described. Later philosophers have shown that the seven 
colors are modifications of three primary colors, red, yellow, and blue. 

Among the smaller poems of Thomson is one composed in memory 
of this great English philosopher, in the preparation of which his friend 
Gray is said to have furnished him with such an account of the Newto- 
nian philosophy as guarded bun against error in his treatment of tha 
wibject. 



SPKING, 55 

Beholds til' amusive arch before him fly,- 215 

Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, 

A soften'd shade, and saturated earth 

Awaits the morning beam, to give to hght, 

Raised through ten thousand different plastic tubes. 

The balmy treasures of the former day. 220 

Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild. 
O'er all the deep-green eartli, beyond the power 
Of botanist to number up their tribes ; 
Whether he steals along the lonely dale, 
In silent search ; or, through the forest, rank 225 

With what the dull incurious weeds account, 
Bursts his blind way ; or climbs the mountain rock. 
Fired by the nodding verdure of its brow. 
With such a liberal hand has Nature flung 
Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds, 230 

Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mould, 
The moistening current, and prolific rain. 

But who their virtues can declare ? who pierce. 
With vision pure, into these secret stores 
Of health and hfe and joy ? the food of man, 235 

While yet he lived in innocence, and told 
A length of golden years ; unflesh'd in blood, 
A stranger to the savage arts of life, 
Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease ; 
The lord, and not the tyrant, of the world. 240 



225-6. The forest rank with, <fcc.: That is, filled luxuriantly with what 
iull, incurious persons account as weeds. 

233. Their virtues: The virtues, or valuable properties and uses, of the 
various families of herbs previously alluded to. 

237. Unfcxh'd in blaod: Not accustomed to the use of blood. The 
term is taken from the dialect of sportsmen, who are in the practice of 
training dogs or hawks to the business they pursue, by feeding them with 
the game they take, or other flesh. That this is the meaning put upon 
the expression by our autlior, is plain from what follows. 



66 Sl'lilNG. 



THE GOLDEN AGE ; OK MAN IN A STATE OF INNOCENCJ5. 

The first fresh dawn then waked the gladden'd race 
Of uncorrupted man, nor blush'd to see 
The sluggard sleep beneath its sacred beam ; 
For their light slumbers gently fumed away. 
And up they rose as vigorous as the sun, 246 

Or to the culture of the willing gk oe. 
Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. 
Meantime the song went round ; and dance and sport. 
Wisdom and friendly talk, successive, stole 
Their hours away ; while in the rosy vale 250 

Love breathed his infant sighs, from anguish free, 
And full replete v/ith bliss ; save the sweet pain. 
That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more. 
Nor yet injurious act, nor surly deed, 
Was known among those happy sons of Heaven ; 255 

For reason and benevolence were law. 
Harmonious Nature too look'd smiling on ; 
Clear shone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales. 
And balmy spirit all. The youthful sun 
Shot his best rays, and still the gracious clouds 260 

Dropp'd fatness down ; as o'er the swelling mead, 

244. Their light slumbers gently famed, exhaled away, or came to an 
easy and gradual termination. We are here reminded of tlie slumbers 
of Adam and Eve, while yet innocent, as described by Milton, at the 
opening of Book V. of the Paradise Lost. 

Now morn her rosy steps in tb' eautem clime 

Advancing, sowM the earth with orient pearl, 

When Adain waked, so customed ; for his sleep 

Was aery light, from pure digestion bred 

And tempYate vapors bland, which th' only sound 

Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan, 

Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song 

Of birds on every bough. 
261. Dropfd fatness down : A beautiful expression, borrowed from th« 
Hebrew bard, and indicating the fertilizing influences of the clouds, or oi 
the rains they let fall upon the earth. The reader is referred to Psalm 
Ixv. 9-12. 



SPRING. 57 

The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd secure. 

This when, emergent from the gloomy wood. 

The nrlaring hon saw, his horrid heart 

Was meeken'd, and he join'd his sullen joy ; 265 

For music held the whole in perfect peace: 

Soft sigh'd the flute ; the tender voice was heard. 

Warbling the varied heart ; the woodlands round 

Applied their choir ; and winds and waters flow'd 

In consonance. Such were those prime of days. 270 

THE IRON AGE ; OR MAN IN A STATE OF DEPRAVITT. 

But now those white unblemisli'd manners, whence 
The fabling poets took their Golden Age, 
Are found no more amid these Iron Times, 
These dregs of life ! Now the distemper'd mind 
Has lost thaticoncord of harmonious powers, 275 

Which forms the soul of happiness ; and all 
Is oft' the poise within : the passions all 
Have burst their bounds ; and reason, half extinct. 
Or impotent, or else approving, sees 

The foul disorder. Senseless, and deform'd, 280 

Convulsive Anger storms at large ; or, pale 
And silent, settles into fell revenge. 
Base Envy withers at another's joy, 
V And hates that excellence it cannot reach. 

Desponding Fear, of feeble fancies full, 285 

Weak and unmanly, loosens every power. 

E'en Love itself is bitterness of soul, 

A pensive anguish pining at the heart ; 

Or, sunk to sordid interests, feels no more 

That noble wish, that never cloy'd desire, 290 

Which selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone 

ilO. Prime, or firaft, of days : Prime is a favorite expreseiou of Miltoa 

3* 



68 SPRING. 

To bless the dearer object of its flame. 

Hope sickens with extravagance ; and Grief, 

Of life impatient, into Madness swells ; 

Or in dead silence, wastes the weeping hours. 295 

These, and a thousand mix'd emotions more, 

From ever changing views of good and ill 

Form'd infinitely various, ve^ the mind 

With endless storm ; whence, deeply rankling grows 

The partial thought, a listless mconcern, 300 

Cold, and averting from our neighbor's good ; 

Then dark Disgust, and Hatred, winding wiles. 

Coward Deceit, and ruffian violence. 

At last, extinct each social feeling, fell 

And joyless Inhumanity pervades ' 305 

And petrifies the heart. Nature disturb'd 

Is deem'd vindictive, to have changed her course. 

Hence, in old dusky time, a deluge (^me ; 
When the deep-cleft disparting orb, that arch'd 
, The central waters round, impetuous rush'd, 310 

With universal burst, into the gulf, 
And o'er the high- piled hills of fractured earth 
Wide dash'd the waves, in undulation vast ; 
Till, from the centre to the streaming clouds, 
A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe. 315 



809-15. This passage will not bear a critical examination, though its' 
general import may be easily comprehended. By deep-cleft departing 
orb the author means the external shell or crust of the earth separating 
in deep fissures, and thus affording a passage to the central waters wliich 
he supposes to occupy the whole interiqr of the globe. The rush of wa- 
ters elevates certain portions of the fractured earth, forming high-piled 
hills, over which dash'd the waves on a stupendous scale, so tliat from the 
centre of the earth to the very clouds a wide and deep waste of waters 
was formed. He represents the disiparting orb as rushi?ig, or moving for- 
ward, impetuously into the gulf, or ocean beds. We must consider liim 
as meaning that the waters from the dispu*ted orb, and not the orb itself, 
rushed into the gulfl 



SPEING. 50 



CHANGES CONSEQUENT UPON THE DELUGE. 

The Seasons since have, with severer sway, 
Oppress'd a broken world : the Winterkeen 
Shook forth his waste of snows ; and Summer shot 
His pestilential heats. Great Spring, before, 
Green'd all the year ; and fruits and blossoms blush'd, 320 
In social sweetness, on the self-same bough. 
Pure was the temperate air ; an even calm 
Perpetual reign'd, save what the zephyrs bland 
Breathed o'er the blue expanse ; for then nor storms 
Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage. 325 

Sound slept the waters ; no sulphureous glooms 
Swell'd in the sky, and sent the lightning forth ; 
While sickly damps, and cold autumnal fogs. 
Hung not, relaxing, on the springs of life. 
But ROW, of turbid elements the sport, 330 

From clear to cloudy toss'd, from hot to cold. 
And dry to moist, with inward-eating change. 
Our drooping days are dwindled down to naught. 
Their period finish'd ere 'tis well begun. 

CENSURE UPON THE USE OF ANIMAL FOOD. 

And yet the wholesome herb neglected dies; 335 

Though with the pure exhilarating soul 
Of nutriment and health and vital powers, 
Beyond the search of art, 'tis copious bless'd. \ 
For, with hot ravine fired, ensanguined man 

S33. Dwindled down, &c. : A satisfactory reason can be given for thia 
physical change. The longevity of the antediluvians led to that enor- 
mous wickedness, on account of which they were swept from the earth* 
The great abbreviation of the period of human life since the deluge, and 
the uncertainty of reaching even that moderate limit, greatly tend to pre- 
vent maturity in crime, and to awaken a becoming regard to our religious 
intorests, and to our conditioa in a future world. 



60 SPKING. 

Is now become the lion of the pkiin, 340 

And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold 

Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk, 

Nor wore her warming fleece ; nor hns the steer. 

At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs. 

E'er plough'd for him. They too are temper'd high, 345 

With hunger stung and wild necessity ; • « 

Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast. 

But Man, whom Nature forra'd of milder clay. 

With every kind emotion in his heart. 

And taught alone to weep ; while from her lap 350 

She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs. 

And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain 

Or beams that gave them birth ; shall he, fair form ! 

Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven. 

E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, 355 

And dip his tongue in gore ? 'The beast of prey, 

Blood-stain'd, deserves to bleed ; but you, ye flocks. 

What have you done ; ye peaceful people, what. 

To merit death ? you, who have given us milk 

In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat 360 

Against the Winter's cold ? And the plain ox. 

That harmless, honest, guileless animal. 

In what has he offended ? He, whose toil. 

Patient, and ever ready, clothes the land 

With all the pomp of harvest ; shall he bleed, 865 

And struggling groan beneath the' cruel hands^ 

E*en of the clown he feeds ? and that, perhaps. 

To swell the riot of th' autumnal feast. 

Won by his labor ? Thus the feeling heart 

Would tenderly suggest ; but 'tis enough, 370 

In this late age, adventurous, to have touch'd 

Light On the numbers of the Saraian sage. 

§72, Satnian sage : The wise man of Samos — Pythao^oras. He w said 
tc h&va invented the term philosopher (lover of wisdom), ar-d to have as 



SPRFNG. 



61 



High Heaven forbids the bold presumptuous strain. 

Whose wisest will has fix'd us in a state. 

That must not yet to pure perfection rise. 375 

TROUT-FISHING. 

.Now, when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 
Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away. 
And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream 
Descends the billowy foam ; now is the time. 
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, 380 

To tempt the trout. The well dissembled fly. 
The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, 
Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating line. 
And all thy slender watery stores, prepare. 
But let not on thy hook the tortured worm 385 

Convulsive twist in aoronizinaj folds ; 
Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep, 
Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast. 
Of the weak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch. 
Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. 390 

When with his hvely ray the potent Sun 
Has pierced the streams, and roused the finny race. 



Bumed it as descriptive of himself. He was a great traveller in search oi 
knowledge, and finally settled at Crotona in tlie southern part of Italy, 
where he gathered around him a large number of young men of noble 
birth, and instructed them in the tenets of his pliilosophy. He is here 
referred to by Thomson, because it was a principle of the Pythagoreap 
system to abstain from the use of animal food ; and this was based upon 
the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, that is, the migration of the 
human soul through the bodies of various animals successivelv. This doc- 
trine still prevails extensively in Asia. 

The mimbem of the Samian sage are probably the " Golden Verses' . 
attributed to him, but written probably by some other hand. They con 
tainea a brief summary of liis populai- doctrines. To music, both as a 
science and an art, Pythagoras is said to have given special and succ^'ssful 
attention. 



62 SPRING. 

Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair. 
Chief should the western breezes curling play, 
^And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. 395 

High to their fount, this day, amid thfe hills, 
And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks ; 
The next, pursue their rocky-channel'd maze 
Down to the river, in whose ample wave 
Their little Naiads love to sport at large. 400 

Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 
Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils 
Around the stone, or from the hoUow'd bank 
Reverted plays in undulating flow ; 

There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly ; 405 

And, as you lead it round in artful curve, 
With eye attentive mark the springing game. 
Straight as above the surface of the flood 
They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap. 
Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook ; 410 

Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, 
And to the shelvincr shore slow dratfcrinaf some, 
With various hand proportion'd to their force. 
If yet too young, and easily deceived, 
A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, 415 

Him, piteous of his youth and the short space 
He has enjoy'd the vital light of heaven. 
Soft disenofacre, and back into the stream 
The speckled captive throw. But should you lure 
From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 420 

Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook. 
Behooves you then to ply your finest art. 
Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly ; 
And oft attempts to seize it, but as of t 

400. Naiads Certain imaginary female deities (of the Grecian and Ro- 
man Mytholog} ^ that were fancied to preside over fountains, streams, 
and Bcaa. 



SPRING. . 63 

The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 425 

At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun 

Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death, 

With sullen plunge. At once he darts along 

Deep-struck, and runs out all the lengthen'd line ; 

Then seeks the furthest ooze, the sheltering wo.ed, 430 

The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode ; 

And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, 

Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand. 

That feels him still, j'^t to his furious course 

Gives way, you, now retiring, following now 435 

Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage ; 

Till, floating broad upon his breathless side, 

And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore 

You gayly drag your unresisting prize. 

NOON-DAY RECREATIONS. 

Thus pass the temperate hours ; but when the sun 440 
Shakes from his noonday thr(Jne the scattering clouds. 
E'en shooting listless languor through the deeps ; 
Then seek the bank where flowering elders crowd. 
Where, scattered wild, the lily of the vale 
Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang 445 

The dewy head, where purple violets lurk. 
With all the lowly children of the shade ; 
Or lie reclined beneath yon spreading ash, 
Hung o'er the steep ; whence, borne on liquid wing. 
The sounding culver shoots ; or where the hawk, 450 

High in the beetling clifi', his eyry builds. 
There let the classic page thy fancy lead 
Through rural scenes ; such as the Mantuan swain 

427. The death : That -which causes death — the hook. 
450. The culver : The woocl-piLjeon. 

453. Manhtan swain : Virgil, whoso Pastoral songs (the Eclogues) are 
here deservedly coramended for their hafmonijus nurabera. 



64 SPRING. ^ 

Paints in the matcl 'ess harmony of song ; 

Or catch thyself the landscape, gliding swift 455 

Athwart Imagination's vivid eye ; 

Or, by the vocal woods and waters lulled. 

And lost in lonely musing, in the dream. 

Confused, of careless sohtude, where mix 

Ten thousand wanderinor imajres of things, 460 

Soothe every gust of passion into peace ; 

All but the swellings of the soften'd heart, 

That weaken, not disturb, the tjftnquil mind. 

Behold yon breathing prospect bids the Muse 
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint 465 

Like Nature ? Can Imagination boast, 
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers ? 
Or can it mix them with that matchless skill. 
And lose them in each other, as appestrs 
In every bud that blows ? If fancy then . 470 

Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task. 
Ah, what shall language do ? Ah, where find words 
Tinged with so many colors ; and whose power. 
To life approaching, may perfume my lays 
With that fine oil, those aromatic gales, 475 

That inexhaustive flow continual round ? 

Yet, though successless, will the toil delight. 
Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose hearts 
Have felt the raptures of refining love ; 
And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song ! 48t 

465-4*76. Amid the growing freshnes^s and increasing beauty of the 
land, the poet -walks to select a scene, the loveliest he can find, on which 
to lay out the choicest colors of the Muse Re feels, as he gazes, how 
difficult it is to limn in words the varying splendor of the Spring and ex- 
claims — " But wlio can paint like Nature ?" &c. — C. 

480. Amanda : This lady was Miss Elizabeth Young, whom Thomson 
greatly desired to marry ; but he conceived himself not warranted in of 
faring his hand, from the scantiness of his income. She became the wife 
of Vice Admiral John Campbell. Thomson writes of her, as will be ob- 



SI'KIXO. 65 

Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself: 

Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet. 

Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul, 

Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd. 

Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart. 485 

Oh, come ! and while the rosy-footed May 



served, with the greatest ardor of affection. She is sai * to have been 
the only woman to whom he was known to be attaclied, and as she was 
possessed of very superior endowments, his disappointment in obtaining 
her greatly diminished his enjoyment of life. In a letter to his sister in 
1747, dated at Hagley, Worcestershire, he thus writes on this subject : — 
" My circumstances have hitherto been so variable and uncertain in this 
fluctuating world as induce to keep me from engaging in such a state ; 
and now, though they are more settled, and of late considerably improved, 
I begin to think myself too fur advanced in life for such youthfid under- 
takings, not to mention some otlier petty reasons that are apt to startle 
the delicacy of difficult old bachelors. I am, however, not a little suspi- 
cious that, were I to pay a visit to Scotland, I might possibly be tempted 
to think of a thing not easily repaired if done amiss." 

481. The Graces: In the Grecian Mythology these are described as 
three yoimg and beautiful sisters, the companions of Venus, the goddess 
of Beauty. They were (as Anthon remarks) an {esthetic conception of 
all that is beautiful and attractive in the physical as well as in the social 
world. The Graces were at all times, in the creed of Greece, the god- 
desses presiding over social enjoyment, the banquet, the dance, and all 
that tended to inspire gayety and cheerfulness. 

To these, according to Thomson's poetical conception, his Amanda was 
indebted for her surpassing loveliness. Milton, in his x\llegro, has intro- 
duced them in a very lively strain. 

486. Rosy-footed May : A beautiful personification of this favorite 
spring month. The epithet apphed is obviously appropriate to the month 
as productive of roses. The first day of this month has long been cele- 
brated in England with great festivity and mirth — the observance owing 
its origin, as is thought, to the heathen entertainments practised in honor 
of the goddess Flora. The Druids on -the eve of May-day were accus- 
tomed to illuminate the hill-tops of Britain in demonstration of their grat- 
itude and joy for the return of Spring in its maturity. Subsequently 
all classes in England have participated in the sports appropriated to 
May-day, when, in the language of old Chaucer, " forth goeth- all the court, 
most and least, to fetch the flowres fresh, and braunch and broom." In 
this diversion Henry VIII. and Katharine, and the entire court, engaged 
w' ih high glee. 



6i) SFKING. 

Steals blushino; on, too^ether let us tread 

The morning dews, and gather in their prime 

Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair. 

And thy loved bosom that improves their sweets. 4C9 

THE WINDING AND WATERED VALE. 

See, where the winding vale its lavish stores, 
Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks 
The latent rill, scarce oozing through the grass, 
Of growth luxuriant ; or the humid bank. 
In fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk, 495 

Where the breeze blows from yon extended field 
Of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast 
A fuller gale of joy, than liberal thence 
Breathes through the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul. 
Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot, 500 

Full of fresh verdure and unnumbered flowers. 
The negligence of Nature, wide and wild ; 
^ Where, undisguised by mimic art, she spreads 
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye. 
Here their delicious task the fervent bees, 505 

In swarming millions, tend. Around, athwart. 
Through the soft air, the busy nations fly. 
Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube. 
Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul ; 
And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare 610 

The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows. 
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil. 

497. Arabia, &c. : This country is celebrated for its aromatic pro- 
ductions. 

505-512. Thomson was a close observer of Nature : she sat for every 
picture he draws. — C. 

611. The purple heath : The landscapes of Scotland and England are 
beautifully diversified by large tracts covered with tliis shrub, that bears 
a very delicate purple flower. The leaves retain their verdure through 



spiiixG. 67 



THE FLOWER- GARDEN. 



At lenirth the finish'd cjarden to tlie view 
Its vistas opens, and its alleys green. 

Snatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried eye 515 
Distracted wanders : now the bowery walk 
Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day 
Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps ; 
Now meets the bending sky ; the river now 
Dimpling along, the breezy ruffled lake, 520 

The forest darkening round, the glittering spire, 
Th' ethereal mountain, and the distant main. 
But why so far excursive ? when at hand, 
Along these blushing borders, bright with dew. 
And in yon mingled wilderness of tiowers, , 525 

Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace ; 
Throws out the snow-drop and the crocus first. 
The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, 



the vear. Tlie shrub is made use of for thatch, brooms, beds for the poor, 
and for heating ovens. Look now at the heather (says Prof. Wilson), and 
smile whenever henceforth you liear people talk o^ purple. 

527. Crocus: The first flower of Spring. The Scotch crocus is striped 
witli white and purple ; other varieties are striped with orange and 
dark purple. An ancient fable is connected with this flower : a youth, 
Crocus, being unable to marry a certain nymph, was said to have pined 
away, and to have been changed into the crocus, or saffron, this name be- 
ing applied also to the saffron used in medicine, and which blossoriis in 
Scptemhor. 

528. The daisy : A favorite flower in Britain. It owed, perhaps, its 
name to Chaucer, who lived in the fourteenth century. From the pecu- 
liarity which this flower possesses of folding its petals at sunset, and of 
expanding them at sunrise, he called it Dai/s-eye. One of Montgomery's 
prettiest poems is devoted to tlie daisy that sprang up unexpectedly in 
Dr. Carey's garden, at Serampore, in India, out of some English earth, in 
which other seeds had been conveyed to him from England. He repre- 
Bonts the missionary as addressing it thus : 

Thrice welcome, little English flower ' 
My mother country's wh'te and red. 



68 srRiNo. 

And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes ; 

The yellow wallflower, stain'd with iron brown, 530 

And lavish stock that scents the garden round ; 

From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, 

Anemones; auriculas, enrich'd 

With shining meal o'^ r all their velvet leaves. 

And full ranuncula of glowing red. 535 

In rose or lily, till this hour, 

Never to me such beauty spread : . 
* * * * 

Thrice welcome, little English flower I 

Whose tribes, beneath our natal skiea 
Shut close their leaves while vapors lower ; 

But, when the sua's gay beams arise, 
With unabash'd but modest eyes, 

Follow his motion to the west, 
Nor cease to gaze till daylight dies, 

Then fold themselves to rest, &c. 

The daisy is the symbol of unconscious beauty ; while the crocus is the 
gymbol of cheerfuhiess and gayety. 

528. The primrose (prime-rose) is an early rose of spring. In Flora's 
Dictionary it is the symbol of delight in bringing modest worth from ob- 
scurity. In English history white and red roses were emblems, respec- 
tively, of the rival famihes of York and Lancaster, in their protracted 
contests for the crown. 

The blue violet is employed as an emblem of faithful friendship : the 
white, of modest worth. • 

629. The polyajdhos (so called froffl its many flowers) is said to be a 
eymbol of confidence in a friend. It belongs to the Primrose family : the 
small flowers upon its stalk growing in clusters. 

533. The anernoneis sometimes seen putting forth its pale flowers amid 
the snows of spring. It loves damp and shady situations. The name, 
derived from a Greek word signifying wind, is properly applied to this 
flower, because it 'expands most rapidly in windy weather. Its stem, two 
or three feet Mgh, bears one flower at the top, possessing large white 
petals. But there are several species of anemone. 

533. The Auricula (Flora's symbol of pride and elegance) is a species 
of primrose, called by this name because its leaves are shaped like the 
ears of a bear. 

535. Ranunculas (so called from rana, a frog, because the flower 
abounds in places frequented by frogs), sometimes called crowfoot, some- 
times buttercup, is a kind of .plants, some of which are beautiful flowering 
plants, particularly the Turkey or Persian varieties, which are distin- 
guished for the richness of their colors, v 



SPKINO. PSf 

Then comes the tulip race, where beauty plays 

Her idle freaks. From family diffused 

To family, as flies the father dust, 

The varied colors run ; and while they break 

On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks, 640 

With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. 

No gradual bloom is wanting, from the bud, 

First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes ; 

Nor hyacinths of purest virgin white, 

Low-bent, and blushing inward ; nor jonquils 646 

Of potent fragrance ; nor narcissus fair. 

As o'er the fabled fountain hano-ino^ still ; 

Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks ; 

Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask rose : 

Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, 660 

With hues on hues expression cannot paint. 

The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. 

DEVOUT ADDRESS TO THE GREAT SOURCE OF BEING. 

Hail, Source of Being ! Universal Soul 
Of heaven and earth ! Essential Presence, hail ! 

647. Fabled fountain : The classical story of K"arcissus is somewhat va- 
riously narrated, but the substance of it is, that having seen his own image 
reflected from a fountain, and discovering its strong resemblance to the 
form of a deceased twin-lister, whose features and dress had been the 
counterpart almost of his own, and whom he had tenderly loved, he waa 
accustomed afterwards to visit the fountain, and gaze upon the image 
that brought her vividly and afFectingly before his mind. His grief preyed 
upon his mind, and brought him prematurely to death, and the gods, it 
was said, compassionately changed him into the flower that bears his 
name. That flower suits the fable so far as this : — it dehghts in the mar- 
gins of streams and fountains, and bending the top of its slender stalk 
over the water, it may easily be conceived as viewing there its own im- 
age : besides this, hke the classical Narcissus, it is a short-lived flower. 

663-568. Hail! Source of Beitig ! <fec. : The sight of those thrifty la- 
borers (described in 605-512), in which the domestic toils of man are im- 
aged, and the- provision which Nature makes in a succession of tlie sweet- 



70 SPRING. 

To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee ray thoughts 555 

Continual climb ; Who, with a master hand, 

Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd. 

By Thee the various vegetative tribes, 

Wrapp'd in a filmy net and clad with leaves. 

Draw the live ether and imbibe the dew. 560 

By Thee disposed into congenial soils, 

est flowers for his gratification (525-552), bring God and his goodness to 
the poet's mind. His address to the Deity is of exquisite dehcacy and 
truth.— C. 

553-4. Universal Soul, cfec: Very far was Thomson, in the use of th/i 
expression, from adopting the Pantheistic doctrine of the " Animus Mun- 
di," which confounds the Deity with creation, and makes the various crea 
lures but several parts of the great God. He beheved in a personal God, 
the source of being, and always devoutly discriminated between Him and 
his.creatures in the homage which lie frequently pays Him in this Poem 
of the Seasons. According to Cicero, the ancient Stoics held that tliis 
world is wise, and has a mind or soul, whereby it formed or fabricatcul 
both it and itself, and orders, moves, and governs all things ; and that the 
sun, moon, and stars are gods, because a certain animal intelligence pervaflt>s 
and permeates all things. The learned Varro asserted, that the soul of tlie 
world, and its parts, constituted the true gods. This theology or philoso- 
phy, as Leland observes, furnished a pretext for worshipping the several 
parts of the world, and the powers and virtues diffused through the parts 
of it, under the name of the popular divinities ; though, in the following 
lines, Pope may have possibly designed to express no other idea than th.it 
of the Divine Omnipresence and universal agency, as set forth in the 
Scriptures, he could not have presented a more literal, as well as beau- 
tiful, statement or illustration of the Pantheistic and pernicious ioctrine 
to which we have adverted. 

All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
Whose body nature is, and God the sojd ; 
That changed through all, and yet in all the same, 
Great in the earth as in the ethereal flame ; 
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze. 
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees ; 
Lives through all life, extends through all e.Ktent, 
Spreads undivided, operates unspent. 

Thomson, in the text, conveys simply the idea, that God is the aufhor oi 
heaven and earth, or the universe, and that He carries forward the multi- 
farious operations going on, by his uijiversal and mysterious agency : an 
idea embraced in that sublime sentence of the apostle Paul—" Of Pliin, 
and to Him, and thi-ough Him, are all thincrs *' 



Stands eacli attractive plant, and sucks and swells 

The juicy tide ; a twining mass of tubes. 

At Thy command tlie vernal sun awakes 

The torpid sap, detruded to the root 565 

By wintry winds ; that now, in fluent dance, 

And lively fermentation mounting, spreads 

All this innumerous colorM scene of things. 

As rising from tb.e vegetable world 
My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend, 570 

My panting Muse. And hark, how loud the woods 
Invite you forth in all your gayest trim. 
Lend me your song, j^nighting;ales ! oh, pour 
The mazy-running soul of melody 

Into my varied vei-se ! while I deduce, 675 

From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, 

568. Critics have censured Thomson for employing many pedantic and 
cumbrous expressions, one of which, inmimerous-color'd, is here used, do- 
scribing the scene of things around us as possessed of innumerable shades 
of color. 

571. My panting Muse : Modern poets have imitated the classical po- 
ets of Greece and Rome in ascribing their poetic conceptions and compo- 
sitions to an imaginary deity called by this name. Of the Muses there 
.were nine, one of whom was honored as presiding over poetry. Other 
fine arts were patronized by her sister Muses. As our author is now 
about to undertake more elevated themes, instead of calling upon his 
Imagination and Fancy to aid him, he bids his panting Muse, under the 
figure of a bird (see also 699-700) to ascend "with equal wing." Thia 
word is generally used, therefore, by English poets as denoting the ge- 
nius or power of poetry — the mental energy which produces this form of 
composition. 

576. Cuclcoo : This bird belongs to a group which is characterized by 
having the toes situated two before and two behind. It is a migratory 
bird ; it arrives in England in the month of April for the purpose of 
breeding. It differs from almost every other bird in not constructing a 
nest, nor under any circumstances hatching its own eggs ; but deposits 
tliem in the nests of other birds, as the hedge-sparrow. The unfledged 
young have a remarkable instinct, whicli impels them to unceasing efforts 
to expel their helpless companions from the nest, which they effect by 
pushing them in the hollow of their back to the verge of the nest, and 
lilting tliem over, until they at length monopolize aU the caro and pro- 



J2 ?PKLN'0. 

The symphony of Spring, and touch a theme 
Unknown to fame, — the Passion of the Groves. 

IHF LOTE OF THE GROVES AND COURTSHIP OF BIRDS. 

When ftrst the soul of love is sent abroad. 
Warm through the vital air, and on the heart 580 

• Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin. 
In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing ; 
And 'try again the long-forgotten strain, 
At first faint warbled. But no sooner grows 
The soft infusion prevalent and wide, 585 

Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows 
In music unconfined. Up springs the lark. 
Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of mom : 
Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings 
Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts ~ 590 
Calls up the tuneful nations. Eveiy copse 

ri«)n of the foster-parent. The young cuckoos of the year do noi leave 
England till the month of September. — Braxde, 

^79-604. To this tine hymn the birds add their songs, each according 
to its kind : the imtaugrht harmony of Spring comes from the clear sk}', 
the tree-top, and the blooming hawthorn ; nor are the songsters unseen 
by the poet, who knows the haunts of each. He gives the bramble to 
the wren, the half-long tree to the thrush, and the cloud to the lark. — C. 

6ST. The lark: The scene described by the poet receives further illus- 
tration from the pen of Mrs. Ellis, who, among other fine tilings, s;\ys, iu 
her " Poetrv of life," — And then there is the glad voice of the lark, that 
spring of perpetual freshness, pouring forth its untiring and inexhaustible 
melody. "Who ever listened to this voice on a clear spring morning, when 
Nature was first rising from her wintry bed, when the furze was in bloom, 
and the lambs at play, and the primrose and the violet scented the deh- 
cious south wind that came with the glad tidings of renovated life ; who 
ever hstened to the song of the lark on such a morning, while the dew wos 
upon the grass, and the sun was smiling through a cloudless sky, without 
feeling that the spirit of joy was still ahve within, around, and above hijn, 
and that those wild and happy strains, floating in softened melody upon 
the scented air, were the outpourings of a gratitude too rapturous for 
words f 



SFIilNG. 73 

Deep tangled, tree irregular, and bush 

Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads 

Of the coy quiristers that lodge within, 

Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush 595 

And woodlark, o'er the kind contending throng 

Superior heard, run through the sweetest length 

Of notes ; when listening Philomela deigns 

To let them joy, and purposes, in thought 

Elate, to make her night excel their day. ' 600 

The blackbird whistles from the thorny brake ; 

The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove. 

Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze 

Pour'd out profusely, silent. Join'd to these 

Innumerous songsters, in the fresh'ning shade 606 

Of new-sprung leaves, ^their modulations mix 

Melhfluous. The jay, the rook, the daw. 

And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, 

Aid the full concert ; while the stockdove breathes 

698. Philomela : The Nightingale, so called for the reason stated by 
the poet. It ranks among the sweetest of song-birds, but owes perhaps 
no small share of its celebrity to the circumstance of the serenity and 
quiet of the night hours, and to its being the sohtary songster. They mi- 
grate in April or May to England from the south, for the purpose of 
breeding ; " and (according to Brande) the famed song of the male is his 
love-chant, and ceases when his mate has hatched her brood. Vigilance, 
anxiety, and caution now succeed to harmony ; and his croak is the hush, 
the warning of danger and suspicion, to the infant charge and the mother 
bird. If by accideut his mate be killed, the male resumes his song ; and 
will continue to chant till very late in summer, unless he can attract, as 
he commonly soon does, another female." 

The term Philomela signifies song-loving. Its application to the sweet- 
singing Nightingale is connected with the classical legend which affirm* 
that Philomela, a daughter of Pandion, king of Athens, getting into diffi- 
culty, was, in answer to her prayer, changed by the gods into a night* 
ingale. 

607-9. In the spring, says Mrs. Ellis, when the roolcs first begin to b« 
busy with their nests, their language, hke their feelings and occupations, 
is cheerful, bustling, and tumultuous. Within the rookery it is perfect 
discord ; but heard in the dietance it convevs to the mind innumerable 



74 si»iu.^G. 

A melancholy murmur through the whole. 610 

'Tis love crea{,es their melody, and all 

This waste of music is the voice of love ; 

That even to birds and beasts the tender arts 

Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind 

Try every winning way inventive love 616 

Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates 

Pour forth their little souls. First, wide around. 

With distant awe, in airy rings they rove, 

Endeavoring by a thousand tricks to catch 

The cunning, conscious, half averted glance 620 

Of the regardless charmer. Should she seem 

Softening the least approvance to bestow. 

Their colors burnish, and, by hope inspired. 

They brisk advance ; then, on a sudden struck. 

Retire disorder'd ; then again approach ; 625 

In fond rotation spread the spotted wing. 

And shiver every feather with desire. 

NEST-BUILDING. 

Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods 
They haste away, all as their fancy leads. 
Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts ; 630 

That Nature's great command may be obey'd. 
Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive 
Indulged in vain. Some to the holly hedge 
Nestling repair, and to the thicket some ; 

pleasing associations with that delightful season of the year, and the uni- 
versal alacrity and joy with which the animal creation resume their prep- 
arations for a new and happy life. 

616-627. Courtship, <fec. : This entire passage displays to great advan- 
tage the habits of close and minute observation, and also of accurate and 
graphic description, for which Thomson is deservedly celebrated. 

631. Nature's great command: Gen. i 22 — " And God blessed them, and 
said, Let fowl multiply in the earth." 



SPRING. 75 

Some to the rude protection of the thorn 635 

Commit their feeble offspring. The cleft tree 

Offers its kind concealment to a few, 

Their food its insects, and its moss their nests. 

Others apart, far in the grassy dale, 

Or rough'ning waste, their humble texture weave. 640 

But most in woodland solitudes delight. 

In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks. 

Steep and divided by a babbling brook. 

Whose murmurs soothe them all the livelong day, 

When by kind duty fi^'d. Among the roots 645 

Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream, 

They frame the first foundation of their domes ; 

Dry sprigs^ of trees, in artful fabric laid,. 

And bound with clay together. Now 'tis naught 

But restless hurry through the busy air, 650 

Beat by unnumber'd wings. The swallow sweeps 

The shmy pool, to build his hanging house 

Intent. And often, from the careless back 

Of herds and flocks, a thousand tugging bills 

Pluck hair and wool ; and oft, when unobserved, 655 

C52. Hanging house : Reference is here made to those swallows that build 
their nest against the interior wall of a chimney, or some other perpen- 
dicular wall, to which, by one of its sides, it is attached. That of the 
chimney-swallow is composed of small twigs fastened together with a 
strong glue or gum, secreted by two glands on each side of the back part 
of the head, which mixes with the saliva. The window-swallow, or mar- 
tin, build of mud taken from a neigliboring brook, which tliey put on 
about half an inch thick in the morning, leaving it till the next morning 
tliat it may become dry and hard, so as to receive tlien a further addi- 
tion. Thus the nest is completed in ten or twelve days. 

Tlie swallow (says Sir Humphrey Davy) is one of my favorite birds, 
and a rival to the nightingale, for he gladdens my sense of seeing as tlie 
other does my sense of hearing. He is the joyous prophet of the year, 
the harbinger of the best season. He lives a life of enjoyment amongst 
the loveliest forms of Nature; winter is unknown to him, and he leaves 
tlie green meadows of England in autumn for the myrtle and orange groves 
of Italy and for the palms of Africa, 



76 



SPRING. 

Steal from the bp.rh a straw ; till soft and warm, 
Clean and complete, their habitation grows. 

PARENTAL DUTIES OF BIRDS. 

As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, 
Not to be tempted from her tender task, 
Or by sharp hunger or by smooth delight, 6G0 

Though the whole loosen'd Spring around her blows ; 
Her sympathizing lover takes his stand 
High on th' opponent bank, and ceaseless sings 
The tedious time away ; or else supplies ^ 

Her place a moment-, while she sudden flits 605 

To pick the scanty meal. Th' appointed time 
"With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow 'young, 
Warm'd and expanded into perfect life, 
Their brittle bondao-e break, and come to liofht, 
A helpless family, demanding food 670 

With constant clamor. 0, what passions then, 
What melting sentiments of kmdly care. 
On the new parents seize ! Away they fly 
Affectionate, and undesirin^ bear 

The most delicious morsel to their young ; 675 

Which equally distributed, again 
The search begins. E'en so a gentle pair. 
By fortune sunk, but form'd of generous mould, 
And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast. 
In some lone cot amid the distant woods, • 680 

Sustain'd alone by providential Heaven, 
Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train. 
Check their own appetites, and give them all. 

Nor toil alone they scorn : exalting love. 
By the great Father of the Spring inspired, 685 

Gives instant courage to the fearful race, 
And, to the simple, art. With stealthy wing, 



Sl'IiLNG. 77 

Should some rude foot their woody haunts molest. 
Amid a neighboring bush they silent drop, 
And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive 690 

Th' unfeehng schoolboy. Hence, around the head 
«^ Of wand'ring s-wain, the wliite-wing'd plover wheels 
Her sounding flight, and then directly on 
In long excursion skims the level lawn, 
» To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, hence, 695 
O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless waste 
The heath-hen flutters (pious fraud !) to lead 
The hot pursuing spaniel far astray. 

THE BARBAROUS BIRD-CAGE, AND NEST ROBBERY. 

Be not the Muse ashamed here to bemoan 
Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant Man YOO 

Inhuman cauirht, and in the narrow caire. 
From liberty confined and boundless air. 
Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull, 
Ragged, and all its briglUening lastre lost ; 
Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes, 705 

Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech. 
then, ye fri'^s^ids of love and love-taught song. 
Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear ; 
If on your bo^om innocence can win, 
Music engage, or piety persuade. 710 

But let not chief the nio-htinscale lament 
Her ruin'd care, too delicately framed 
To brook the harsh confinement of the cige. 
Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, 
Th' astonish'd mother finds a vacant nest, JTIS 

Til. The idea may be thus expressed : — But chiefly, or especially, let 
not the nigiitiiigale be compelled to lament the objects of her care ruined, 
being to) delicately framed, (fee. The tenderness of her maternal instinct 
is here k Aost pathetically portrayed. 



7S sPKiNa. 

By the hard hands of unrelenting clowns 

Robb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls ; 

Her pinions ruflOle, and low- drooping scarce 

Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade ; 

Where, all abandon'd to despair, she sings 720 

Her sorrows through the night ; and, on the bough. 

Sole-silting, still at every dying fall 

Take$ up again her lamentable strain 

Of windinor woe ; till, wide around, the woods 

Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound. 725 

THE YOUNG BIRDS TAUGHT TO FLY. 

But now the feather'd youth their former bounds, 
Ardent, disdain ; and, weighing oft their wings. 
Demand the free possession of the sky ; 
This one glad office more, and then dissolves 
Parental love at once, now needless grown: 730 

Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain. 
'Tis on some evening, sunny, grateful, mild. 
When naught but balm is breathing through the v/oods. 
With yellow lustre bright, that the new tribes 
Visit the spacious heavens, and look abroad 735 

On Nature's common, far as they can see. 
Or wing, their range and pasture. O'er the boughs 
Dancing about, still at the giddy verge • 
Their resolution fails ; their pinions still. 
In loose libration stretch'd, to trust the void 740 

Trembling refuse ; till down before them fly 
The parent guides, and chide, exhort, command, 
Or push then! off. The surging air receives 
Its plumy burden ; and their self-taught wrings 
Winnow the waving: element. On orround 745 

7yi, Dying fall : That is, in the tones of lier voice. 
72-'. Weighing : Lifting. 



SI'RING. Td 

Alighted, bolder up again they lead, 

Farther and farther on, the lengthening flight ; 

Till vanish'd every fear, and every power 

Roused into life and action, hght in air 

Th' acquitted parents see their soaring race, Y50 

And once rejoicing never know them more. 

High from the summit of a cj-aggy cliff, 

Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frowns 

On utmost Kilda's shore, whose lonely race 

Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds, 'J55 

The royal eagle draws his vigorous young. 

Strong-pounced, and ardent with paternal fire. 

Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own. 

He drives them from his fort, the towering seat. 

For ages, of his empire ; which, in peace, ^60 

UnstainM he holds ; while many a league to sea 

He wings his course, and preys in distant isles. 

rSFLUENCE OF SPRING ON DOMESTIC FOWLS, ON BRUTES, AND 
MONSTERS OF THE DEEP. 

Should I my steps turn to the rural seat. 
Whose lofty elms and venerable oaks 

Invite the rook, which high amid the boughs, 765 

In early Spring, his airy city builds. 
And ceaseless caws amusive ; there, well pleased, 
I might the various polity survey 
Of the mix*d household kind. The careful hen 
Calls all her chirping family around, 770 

Fed and defended by the fearless cock ; 
Whose breast with ardor flames, as on he walks. 
Graceful, and crows defiance. In the pond. 
The finely checker'd duck, before her train, 

764. KUdi: The moat remote of the westera islands of Scotland, 



80 spKj.Mx. 

Rows garrulous. The stately sa ling swan ^Y5 

Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale ; 

And> arching proud his neck, with oary feet 

Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier isle, 

Protective of his young. The turkey nigh. 

Loud threatening, reddens; while the peacock spreads 780 

His every-color'd glory to the sun, 

And swims in radiant majesty along. 

O'er the whole homely scene the cooing dove 

Flies thick in am'rous chase, and wanton rolls 

The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. TSS 

While thus the gentle tenants of the shade 
Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world 
Of brutes below rush furious into flame 
And fierce desire. Through all his lusty veins 
The bull, deep scorch'd, the raging passion feels. 790 

Of pasture sick, and negligent of food. 
Scarce seen, he wades among the yellow broom, 
While o'er his ample sides the rambling sprays 
Luxuriant shoot ; on through the mazy wood 
Dejected v/anders, nor th* enticing bud "795 

Crops, though it presses on his careless sense : 
And oft, in jealous madd'ning fancy wrapp'd, 
He seeks the fight, and, idly butting, feigns 
His rival gored in every knotty trunk. 
Him should he meet, the bellowing war begins ; 800 

Their eyes flash fury ; to the hoUow'd earth. 
Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds, 

792. Broom: A species of evergreen shrub, common in Britain, the 
branches of wliich are made up into brooms. Its botanical name is Spar- 
Hum scopariwi/i' There is another species which, being used in dyeing 
yellow, is called Dyer's broom; its botanical name is Gcniata tinctoria. 
The beauty of its color may be estimated by what Prof. Wilson says of 
it: — "You have been wont to call a gold guinea or a sovereign yellow; 
but if you have got one m your pocket, place it on your palm, and in tha 
light of that broom is it not a dirty broion?" 



SPRING. 81 

And, groaning deep, tli' impetuons battle mix : 

While tlie fair heifer, bahny-breatliing, near, 

Stands kindling up tlieir rage. The trembling steec^ 805 

With this hot impulse seized in every nerve, 

Nor heeds the rein, nor hears the soundinof thono-. 

Blows are not felt ; but, tossing high his head. 

And by the well-known joy to distant plains 

Attracted strong, all wild he bursts away; 810 

O'er rocks and woods and craggy mountains flies, 

And, neighing, on th' aerial summit takes 

Th' exciting gale ; then, steep descending, cleave? 

The headlong torrent foaming down the hills,. 

E'en where the madness of the straiten'd stream 815 

Turns in black eddies round. Such is the force 

With which his frantic heart and sinews swell. 

Nor undelighted by the boundless Spring 
Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep. 
From the deep ooze and gelid cavern roused, Si'i*^ 

They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy. 
Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to sing 
The cruel raptures of the savage kind ; 
How by this flame their native wrath sublimed. 
They roam, amid the fury of their heart, 824 

The fiir resounding waste in fiercer bands. 
And growl their horrid loves. But this the themt 
I sing, enraptured, to the British Fair, 
Forbids, and leads me to the mountain brow, 
Where sits the shephei-d on the grassy turf, 830 

Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. 
Around him feeds his many-bleating flock, 
Of various cadence ; and his sportive lambs. 
This way and that convolved in friskful glee. 
Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race 835 

Invites them forth ; when swift, the signal given. 
They start away, and sweep the massy mound 
4* 



82 SPKING. 

That runs around the hill ; the rampart once 

Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times, 

When disunited Britain ever bled, 840 

Lost in eternal broil : ere yet she grew 

To this deep-laid, indissoluble state, 

Where wealth and commerce lift their golden heads. 

And o'er our labors liberty and law. 

Impartial, watch ; the wonder of the world ! 845 

What is this mighty Breath, ye sages, say, 
That, in a powerful language, felt, not heard. 
Instructs the fowls of heaven, and through their breast 
These arts of love diffuses ? What, but God ? 
Inspiiing God ! who, boundless Spirit all, 850 

And unremitting Energy, pervades. 
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. 
He ceaseless works alone ; and yet alone 
Seems not to work : with such perfection framed 
Is this complex, stupendous scheme of things. 855 

But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye 
Th' informing Author in his works appears: 
Chief lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes, ^ 
The smiling God is seen ; while water, earth, 
And air attest his bounty, which exalts - 860 

The brute creation to this finer thought. 
And annual melts their undesigning hearts 
Profusely thus in tenderness and joy. 

83b. The lull. What hill is here meant it is not easy to determine; 
but, as he describes, a little further on, the landscape at and around 
Hagley Park, the seat of Lord Lyttleton m ^yorcestershire, it is to be 
presumed that he refers to the Clent Hills in that vicinity : for these, as 
Hugh Miller states, at an early period formed one. of the battle-fields on 
which the naked Briton contended on unequal terms with the mail-envel- 
oped Roman. 

846. Breath : Here used as synonymous with spirit. 

867. Informing: Life-giving. 



8PRING. 83 



INFLUENCE OF SPRING ON MAN. 

Still let my song a nobler note assume, 
And sing th' infusive force of Spring on man. 865 

When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie 
To raise his being and serene his soul. 
Can he forbear to join the general smile 
Of nature ? Can fierce passions vex his breast, 
While every gale is peace, and every grove 8*70 

Is melody ? Hence ! from the bounteous walks 
Of flowing Spring, ye sordid sons of earth, 
Hard, and unfeeling of another's woe, 
Or only lavish to yourselves, away ! 

But come, ye generous minds, in whose wide thought, 8Y5 
Of all his works, creative Bounty burns 
With warmest beam ; and on your open front 
And liberal eye, sits, from his dark retreat 
Inviting modest Want. Nor, till invoked. 
Can restless goodness wait : your active search ' 880 

Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplored ; 
Like silent-working Heaven, surprising oft 
The lonely heart with unexpected good. 
For you the roving Spirit of the wind 
Blows Spring abroad ; for you the teeming clouds 885 

Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world ; 
And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you. 
Ye flower of human race ! In these green days. 
Reviving Sickness lifts her languid head ; 



875-6. The thought here intended to be expressed seems to be this: 
generous men in their wide range of thought, having regard to others as 
weH as to themselves, exhibit more than any other of the works of God — 
in a more intense degree — the warm benevolence of their Maker. They 
manifest a similar bounty, originating blessings to the sons of want. Such 
the poet iptly denominates the Flower of the hmnan race. 



84 SPRING. 

Life flows afresh ; and young-eyed Health exalts 890 

The whole creation round. Contentment walks 
The sunny glade,, and feels an inward bliss 
Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings 
To purchase. Pure serenity apace 

Induces thought and contemplation still. 895 

By swift degrees the love of Nature works. 
And warms the bosom ; till at last, sublimed 
To rapture and enthusiastic heat. 
We feel the present Deity, and taste 
' The joy of God to see a happy world ! 900 

These are the sacred feelings of thy heart. 
Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray, 
Lyttleton, the friend ! Thy passions thus 

890. Exalts. While this reading is found in all the copies I hare seen, 
the context seems to require exults as a more appropriate word. 

900. Joy of God: That is, such as He feels — an intense, exalted, rap- 
turous delight. 

903. Lyttleton : Lord George Lyttleton, the friend and patron of Thom- 
son. He was a member of the British Parharaent, and secretary to the 
Prince of Wales. Tliis latter situation put it in his power to appoint 
Thomson to the office of surveyor-general of the Leeward Islanils, the 
duties of which he was allowed to perform by a deputy, and the profits 
realized were £S00 per annum. It was tlirough the iiifluence of the same 
noble friend that the Prince of Wales conferred upon him a pension of 
£100 a year; but in a few years it was withdrawn, in conaequence of his 
patron becoming obnoxious to the displeasure of the Prince. Being an 
opponent of the Walpole administration, when that came to a close, he 
was made, in 1744, one of the Lords of the Treasury; in 1755 a privy- 
councillor ; the next year a chancellor of the exchequer, and some time 
afterwards was raised to the peerage. As a literary man, some of his 
poetical effusions possess merit — particularly his monody to his dt>eeased 
wife, and his prologue to Thomson's tragedy of Coriolanus, which Wis 
spoken by M/. Quin, soon after Thomson's death. He was the author of 
an elaborate history of the reign of Henry II. of England. His treatise 
on the conversion of St. Paul still holds a high place among the best 
works of evidence in favor of Christianity, and to which. Dr. Johnson has 
said, infidelity lias never been able to fabricate a specious answer. He 
^vas a liberal patron of several literary men, and died in 1773, at the age 
*l sixty -four* The record of the last scene of hishfe La worth preservinij 



SPKING. , 85 

And meditations vary, as at larjTC, 

Courting the Muse, through Hagley Park tliou strayest, 905 

Thy British Terape ! There along the dale, 

"With woods o'erhung, and shagg'd with mossy rocks. 

Whence on each hand the gushing waters play. 

And down the rough cascade white dashing fall. 

Or gleam in lengthen'd vista through the trees, 913 

You silent steal ; or sit beneath the shade 

Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts. 

Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand. 

And pensive listen to the various voice 

Of rural peace : the herds, the flocks, the birds, 915 

The hollow-whispering breeze, the plaint of rills. 

That, purling down amid the twisted roots 

He is said to have then addressed his physician in the following Iangua2:e : 
"Doctor, when I first set out in the world, I had friends who endeavored 
to shake* my belief in the Christian religion. I saw difficulties wliich 
staggered me ; but I kept my mind open to conviction. The evidences 
and doctrines of Christianity, studied with attention, made me a most iirn> 
and persuaded believer of the Christian religion. I have made it tlie ru^'e 
of my life, and it is the ground of my future hopes. I have erred and 
sinned, but have repented, and never indulged any vicious habit. lu 
politics and public life I have made public good the rule of my conduct 
I have endeavored, in private life, to do all the good in my power, and 
Dever for a moment could indulge malicious or unjust designs upon any 
"person whatsoever." 

He was a good man, and is not to be confounded with the second Lord 
Lyttleton, his son — the sad opposite of his father in moral character ard 
influence ; — a full and interesting account of both of whom has been 
furnished by Hugli Miller in his recent work, entitled "First Impressions 
of England and its People." 

906. The British Tempt : What the celebrated vale of Tempe was to 
Greece, that, in the poet's estimation, Avas the dale of Hagley to Britain, 
and which he now proceeds to descril)e in an exquisitely beautiful manne- 
Tempe was a valley in Thessaly, having Mount Olympus on the north and 
Mount Ossa on the south. It was only five miles long, and in some parts 
not more than one hundred feet wide. The poets represent it as a most 
enchanting scene, abounding in verdant walks, cool shades, and the melody 
of bii-ds. The accuracy of their eulogium is sustained by the reports oj 
Boine modern travellers. 



80 J'PKCNG. 

Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake 
On the soothed ear. From these abstracted oft, 
You wander through the philosophic world; 920 

Where in bright train continual wonders rise 
Or to the curious or the pious eye. 
And oft, conducted by historic truth. 
You tread the long extent of backward time ; 
Plarning, with warm benevolence of mind 925 

And honest zeal, unwarp'd by party rage, 
Britannia's weal ; how from the venal gulf 
. To raise her virtue, and her arts revive. 

Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts 

The Muses charm ; while, with sure taste refined, 930 

You draw th' inspiring breath of ancient song ; 

Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own. 

Perhaps thy loved Lucinda shares thy walk. 



933. Thy loved Lucinda : Lucy Lady Lyttleton, by whom Lord Lyttle- 
ton had one son and two daughters, and witli whom he passed about five 
years in the hij^hest degree of connubial happiness, as we learn from Dr. 
Johnson, and from the lines of the poet. According to the epitaph ia- 
ficribed upon her monument, she was 

Made to engage all hearts and charm all eyes ; 
Though meek, magnanimous; though witty, wise: 
Polite as she in courts had ever been, 
Yet good as she the world had never seen ; 
The noblo fire of an exalted mind, 
"With gentle female tenderness combined. 
Her speech was the melodious voice of love, 
Her song the warbling of the vernal grove; 
Her eloquence was sweeter than her song. 
Soft as her heart, and as her reason strong : 
Her form each beauty of the mind expressed; 
Her mind was virtue by the Graces dressed. 

Having quoted the above, Mr. Hugh Miller remarks, that England in the 
eighteenth century saw few better men or better women than Lord 
Lyttleton and his lady ; and it does seem a curious enough fact, that their 
only son, a boy of many hopes and many advantages, and who possessed 
quick parts and a vigorous intellect, should have proved, notwithstanding, 
one of the most flagitious personages of his age. The first Lord Lyttleton 
was not more conspicuous for his genius and hia virtues, than the second 
Lord Lyttleton for his talents and liis vices. 



SPEING. 87 

With soul to thine attuned. Then Nature all 

Wears to the lover's eye a look of love ; 935 

And all the tumult of a guilty world, 

Toss'd by ungenerous passions, sinks away. 

The tender heart is animated peace ! 

And, as it pours its copious treasures forth 

In varied converse, softening every theme, 940 

You, frequent pausing, turn, and from her eyes. 

Where meeken'd sense, and amiable grace. 

And hvely sweetness dwell, eni-apturcd, drink 

That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, 

Unutterable happiness ! which love 945 

Alone bestows, and on a favor'd few. 

Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow 

947-959. In 1845, Hugh Miller, the distinguished Scotch geologist, made 
a visit at Haglev, and has recently published a full, scientific, and enter- 
taining account of that region. Those who may not be so fortunate as to 
have access to that account, will appreciate the heauty and appropriate- 
ness of the following extracts. They have tlie greater value in this place 
because they serve to illustrate the text, and to give us a few incidents in 
the life of Thomson : 

" Passing througli part of the garden and a small but well-kept green- 
house, we emerged into the park, and began to ascend the hill by a narrow 
inartificial path th:jt winds, in alternate sunshine and shadow, as the trees 
approach or recede through tlie rich moss of the lawn. Half way up the 
ascent, where the hillside is indented by a deep irregular semicircular 
depression, open and grassy in the bottom and sides, but thickly garnished 
along the rim with noble trees, there is a semi-octagonal temple, dedi- 
cated to the genius of Thomson, 'a sublime poet,' says the inscription, 
•and a good man,' who greatly loved, when living, this hollow retreat. I 
looked with na little interest on the scenery that had satisfied so great a 
master of landscape, and thought, though it might be but fancy, tliat I 
encceetled in detecting the secret of liis admiration ; and that the speci- 
alities of his taste in the case rested, as they not unfrequently do in such 
cases, on a substratum of personal character. The green hill spread out 
its mossy arms around, like the arms of a well-padded easy-chair of enor- 
mou"! proportions, imparting, from the complete seclusion and shelter 
which it affords, luxurious ideas of personal security and ease ; while the 
open part permits the eye to expatiate on an expansive and lovely 
landscape. We see 'he ground immediately iu front occupied by au ua- 



88 srinxG. 

The bursting prospect spreads immense around ; 

And, snatcli'd o'er hill and dale, and wood aixd laAvn, 

And verdant field, and darkening heath between, 950 

And villages embosom'd soft in trees. 

And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd 

Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams ; 

Wide stretchino; from the Hall, in whose kind haunt 

The hospitable Genius lingers still, 955 

To where the broken landscape, by degrees 

Ascending, roughens into rigid hills ; 

O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds. 

That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise. 



ef en sea of tree-tops, chiefly oaks of noble size, that rise at various levels 
on the lower slopes of the park. The clear sunshine imparted to them 
this day exquisite variegations of fleecy light and shadow. They formea 
a billowy ocean of green, that seemed as if wrought in floss silk. Fai 
beyond — for the nearer fields of the level country are hidden by the 
oaks — lies a blue labyrinth of hedge-rows, stuck over with trees, and so 
crowded together in the distance that they present, as has already been 
eaid, a forest-like appearance ; while, still further beyond, there stretches 
along the horizon a continuous purple screen, composed of the distant 
highlands of Cambria. Such is the landscape which Thomson loved." 

" As seen from his chosen recess, the blue of the distant hills seems 
melting into the blue of the sky ; or as he himself better describes the 
dim outUne, 

'The Cambrian mountains, like far clouds 
That skirt the b'lie horizon, dusky rise.' 

" I passed somewhat hurriedly through glens and glades — over rising 
knolls and wooded slopes — saw statues and obelisks, temples and hermit 
ages, and lingered awhile, ere I again descended to the lawn, on the top of 
an eminence which commands one of the richest prospects I had yet seen. 
The landscape from this point — by far too line to have escaped the eye 
of Thomson — is described in the ' Seasons ;' and the hill which overlooks 
it, represented as terminating one of the walks of Lyttleton and his lady — 
that Lucy Lady Lyttleton whose early death formed, but a few years 
after, the subject of the monody so well known and so much admirci! ia 
the days of our great-grandmothers : 

'The beauteous hride. 
To whose fair memory flowed tlie tenderest tear 
That ever trembled o'er the female blor.'" 



■KixG. 89 



THE MISERIES OF WILD AND IRREGULAR PASSION. 

Flush'd by the spirit of tlie genial year, . 960 

Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom 
Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round ; 
Her lips blush deeper sweets ; she breathes of youth ; 
The shining moisture swells into her eyes. 
In brighter flow ; her wishing bosom heaves 965 

With palpitations wild ; kind tumults seize 
Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. 
From the keen gaze her lover turns away. 
Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick 
With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair, 970 

Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts. 
Dare not th' infectious sigh ; the pleading look. 
Downcast and low, in meek submission dress'd. 
But full of guile. Let not-the fervent tongue. 
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, 975 

Gain on your purposed will. Nor in the bower. 
Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch. 
While Evening draws her crimson curtains round, 
Trust your soft minutes with betraying man. 

And let th' aspiring youth beware of love, 980 

Of the smooth glance beware ; for 'tis too late. 
When on his heart the torrent softness pours. 
Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame 
Dissolves in air away ; while the fond soul, 
Wrapp'd in gay visions of unreal bliss, 985 

Still paints th' illusive form ; the kindling grace ; 
Th' enticing smile ; the modest-seeming eye. 
Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven, 
Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death. 

962. Less and less: The color of the "live carnation" becomes less in- 
tense the farther it proceeds from the centre of the cheek. 

971. Slidiny : Yielding — liable to be drawn from a virtuous state. 



1 
90 srjiiAO. 

. And still, false warbling in his cheated ear, 990 

Her siren voice, enchanting, draws him on 
To guileful shores and meads of fatal joy. 

E'en present, in the very lap ot love 
Inglorious laid ; while music flows around, 
Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours ; 995 

Amid the roses, fierce Repentance rears 
Her snaky crest : a quick returning pang 
Shoots through the conscious heart, where honor still 
And great design, against th' oppressive load 
Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave. 1000 

But absent, what fantastic woes, aroused. 
Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed. 
Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life ! 
Neglected fortune flies ; and, sliding swift, 
Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd aflf;iii's. 1005 

'Tis naught but gloom around : the darken'd sun 
Loses his light; the rosy-bosom'd Spring 
To weeping fancy pines ; and yon bright arch, 
Contracted, bends into a dusky vault. 
All Nature fades extinct ; and she alone, 1010 

Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought, 
Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. 
Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends ; 
And sad amid the social band he sits, 

991. Siren: Fascinating and dangerous; the term being derived from 
the dassical fable of the Sirens, two maidens who dwelt upon an island, 
and when vessels passed took their position in a mead close to the sea- 
shore, and poured forth from their sweet voices such strains of melody as 
caused tliose sailing by to leave their vessels and, forgetting country and 
home-, and every tiling else, to remain until tliey perished with hunger, 

99?>. E'en present : Even when he is present with the object of hia 
passionate regard and indulging his loose desires, his pleasures are dis- 
turbed by the beginnings of Remorse. Even "amid the roses, fierce Repen- 
tance rears her snaky crest." The next paragraph portrays the unhappy 
Condition ol" the libertine when absent from the object of his guilty 
passion — " the ench;mtress of his soid." 



•i'i:iN'(j. 



01 



Lonely, !ind inittentive. From his tongue 1015 

Til' uuiip.isiied period falls; while, borne away 

On swuliing ihought, his wafted spiiit flies 

To the \ ain bosom of his distant fair ; 

And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd 

In melancholy site, with head declined, 1020 

And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts, 

Shook from his tender trance, and restless runs 

To glimmering shades and sympathetic glooms ; 

Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream, 

Romantic, hangs. There through the pensive dusk 1025 

Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost, 

Indulging all to love : or on the bank 

Thrown, amid drooping lilies, swells the breeze 

With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears. 

Thus in soft anguish, he consumes the day, 1030 

Nor quits his deep retirement, till the moon 

Peeps through the chambers of the fleecy east, 

Enlightened by degrees, and in her train 

Leads on the gentle Hours. Then forth he walks. 

Beneath the trembling languish of her beam, 1035 

With softened soul, and woos the bird of eve 

To mingle woes with his ; or, while the world 

And all the sons of Care lie hush'd in sleep. 

Associates with the midnight shadows drea:' ; 

And, sighing to the loneiy taper, pours 1040 

His idly-tortured heart into the page. 

Meant for the moving messenger of love ; 

Where rapture burns on rapture, every line 

With rising frenzy fired. But if on bed 

Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies ; 1045 

All night he tosses, nor the balmy power 

In any posture finds ; till the gray morn 

Lifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch. 

Exanimate by love ; and then perhaps 



92 SPKING. 

Exhausted Nature sinks a while to rest, 1050 

Still interrupted by distracted dreams, 
• That o'er the sick imagination rise. 

And in black colors paint the mimic scene. 

Oft with th' enchantress of his soul he talks ; 

Sometimes in crowds distress'd ; or, if retired 1055 

To secret winding, flower-enwoven bowers, 

Far from the dull impertinence of man. 

Just as he, credulous, his endless cares 

Begins to lose in blind oblivious love, 

Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not how 1060 

Through forests huge, and long untravell'd heaths 

With desolation brown, he wanders waste. 

In night and tempest wrapp'd ; or shrinks aghast. 

Back, from the bending precipice ; or wades 

The turbid stream below, and strives to reach 1065 

The further chore ; where succorless *nd sad. 

She with extended arms his aid implores ; 

But strives in vain. Borne by th' outrageous flood 

To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave. 

Or, whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy, sinks. 1070 

THE TORTURES OF JEALOUSY. 

These are the charmino; a$Tonies of love. 
Whose misery delightr. But through the heart, 
Should jealousy its venom once diffuse, 
'Tis then delightful misery no more. 

But agony unmix'd, incessant gall, i075 

Corroding every thought, and blasting all 
Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects, then, ' 
Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy. 
Farewell ! ye gleamings of departed peace. 
Shine out your last! the yellow-tinging plague 1080 

Internal vision taints, and in a nitrht 



Si'KING. 93 

Of livid gloom imagination wraps. • 
All ! then, instead of love-enli-ven'd cheeks. 
Of sunny features, and of ardent eyes, 
With flowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed, 1085 

Suflfused and glaring with untender fire, 
A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek, 
Where the whole poison'd soul, malignant, sits. 
And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears 
* Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views 1090 

Of horrid rivals, hansfingr on the charms 
For which he melts in fondness, eat him up 
With fervent anoruish and consuminjr raore. 
In vain reproaches lend their idle aid, 
Deceitful pride, and resolution frail, 1095 

Giving false peace a mopieot. Fancy pours, 
Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought. 
Her first endearments twining round the soul. 
With all the witchcraft of ensnaring love. 
" Straight the fierce storm involves his mind anew, 1100 

Flames through the nerves, and boils along the veins.; 
While anxious doubt distracts the tortured heart ; 
!IS'or e'en the sad assurance of his fears 
Were ease to what he feels. Thus the warm youth. 
Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds, 1105 

Through flowery-tempting paths, or leads a life 
Of fever'd rapture or of cruel care ; 
His brightest flames extinguish'd all, and all 
His lively moments running down to waste. 

THE JOYS OF VIRTUOUS AND WEDDED LOVE. 

But happy they ! the happiest of their kind ! 1110 

Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate • 

1106. Or: Either. 

1111. Gentler stars unite : The expression will be understood when it 



94: SPRING. 

Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 

'Tis not the coarser tie of liuman laws, 

Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind, 

That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 1115 

Attuning all their passions into love ; 

Where friendship full exerts her softest power, 

Perfect esteem enliven'd by desire 

Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ; 

Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, 1120 

With boundless confidence : for naught but love 

Can answer love, and render bliss secure. 

Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent 

To bless himself, from sordid parents buys 

The loathing virgin, in eternal care, 1125 

Well merited, consume his nights and days. 

Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love 

Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they Jeel ; 

Let eastern tyrants from the light of heaven. 

Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd 1130 

Of a mere lifeless, violated form ; 

While those, whom love cements in holy faith,* 

And equal transport, free as Nature live. 

Disdaining fear. What is the world to them. 

Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all, 1135 

Who in each other clasp whatever fair 

High Fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish ; 

Something than beauty dearer, should they look 

IS regarded as borrowed from the now exploded doctrine of Astrology 
whicli affirms that the course of human hfe is affected and determined by 
the relative position of the stars, the sun, and planets, at one's birth, or 
at any other critical period of life. Hence, poetically, the gentler stara 
— those which exert a benignant influence, are here described as bringing 
qJ30ut a happy union. 

1120, Preventing : Going before, anticipating — the wish of the one 
party being not onl^y met, but even anticipated, by the corresponding vo- 
lition of the other party. 



srijiNG. 95 

Or on the mind, or mind-illumined foce ; 

Truth, goodness, honor, harmony, mid love, il40 

The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. 

Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, 

And mingles both their graces. By degrees. 

The human blossom blows ; and every dciy, 

Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, 1145 

The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. 

Then infant reason grows apace, and calls 

For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 

Deligjhtful task ! to rear the tender thousfht, 

To teach the young idea how to shoot, 1150 

To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 

To breathe th' enlivening spij-it, and to fix 

The generous purpose in the glowing breast. 

Oh, speak the joy ! ye, whom the sudden tear 

Surprises often, while you look around, 1155 

And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss. 

All various Nature pressing on the heart. 

An elegant sufficiency, content. 

Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 

Ease and alternate labor, useful life, 1160 

Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven ; 

These are the matchless joys of virtuous love. 

And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus. 

As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll. 

Still find them happy ; and consenting Spring 1165 

Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : 

Till evening comes at last, serene and mild ; 

When after the long vernal day of life. 



1149-1163. These beautiful lines give us Thomson's conception ol tbo 
elements of a happy life, some of which he was debarred from realizing 
in his own experience by certain reasons which induced liim to remain a 
bachelor. The educational process is described with great felicity 



96 SPRING. 

Enamored more, as more remembrance swells. 

With many a proof of recollected love, 1170 

Together down they sink in social sleep ; 

Together freed, their gentle spirits fly 

To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. 



/ . 



© y [ija oj^ [E [^ 



SUMMER. 



INTEODUCTOEY EEMAEKS. -^ 

The period of Summer is marked by fewer and less striking 
changes than Spring in the face of Nature. A soft and pleas- 
ing languor, interrupted only by the gradual progression of the 
vegetable and animal tribes towards their state of maturity, forms 
the leading character of this season. The active fermentation 
of the juices, which the first access of genial warmth had ex- 
cited, now subsides; and the increasing heats rather inspire 
faintness and inaction than lively exertions. The insect races 
alone seem animated with peculiar vigor under the more direct 
influence of the sun ; and are therefore with equal truth and 
advantage introduced by the poet to enliven the silent and 
drooping scenes presented by the other forms of animal nature. 
As this source, however, together with whatever else our sum- 
mers afford, is insufficient to furnish novelty and business enough 
for this act of the drama of the year, the poet judiciously opens 
a new field, profusely fertile in objects suited to the glowing col- 
ors of descriptive poetry. By an easy and natural transition he 
quits the chastised summer of the temperate clime of Britain for 
those regions where a perpetual Summer reigns, exalted by such 
superior degrees of solar heat as give an entirely new face to 
almost every part of nature. The terrific grandeur prevalent 
in some of these, the exquisite richness and beauty in others, 
and the novelty in all, afford such a happy variety for the poet's 
selection, that we need not wonder if some of his noblest pieces 
are the product of this delightful excursion. 

5 



100 SUMMER IXTKODUCTOKY KEMAEKS. 

He returns, lio\Tever, with apparent satisfaction, to take a last 
survey of the softer summer of the island of Britain ; and, after 
closing the prospect of terrestrial beauties, artfully shifts the 
scene to celestial splendors, which, though perhaps not more 
striking in this season than in some of the others, are now alone 
agreeable objects of contemplation in a northern climate. 

AlKIN. 

Summer is the manhood of the year. Its powers are devel- 
oped ; its vigor is fresh ; its plans are matured : it is in the full 
flush of beauty, and buoyant with the joy and bustle of exist- 
ence. Turn where we will, there are proofs of operations begun 
and in progress, which indicate design, wisdom, and activity ; 
of an infancy and youth, spent in preparation, and ending in 
settled purposes reduced to practice, and, useful employments 
industriously prosecuted. Such is-the general character of this 
season ; and when we take a more accurate survey of particu- 
lars, a thousand delightful illustrations occur, all leading us to 
the same sublime conclusion, that the natural operations which 
are silently proceeding around us, are the work of a present 
Deity, and a reflection of his attributes. In the sacred poetry 
of the Hebrews (particularly in the hundred and fourth Psalm), 
we meet with many solemn and beautiful views, which show 
how much alive the inspired writers were to such impressions. 

There is a pleasure peculiar to Spring in the contemplation 
of Nature rising, as it were, from the tomb, and bursting into 
hfe, and light, and joy ; but that which belongs to Summer is 
not less intense, although of a diff'erent kind. The delight of 
this season arises from the view of the full development or suc- 
cessful progress of the powers and processes which in Spring 
began to operate. The plants which had just pierced the earth 
in the commencement of that season have now shpt forth their 
stalks, > and expanded their blades, and opened their beautiful 
flowers to the sun; the trees rejoice in their leafy pride; the 
fields luxuriate in the abundance of their vegetable stores ; and 



SUMMER INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 101 

animated Nature is instinct with life and enjoyment. The whole 
scene is full of delight ; but it is only when it is associated with 
religious feelings, and when it raises the mind to a Father Beincr, 
who called all this loveliness into existence, and whose unseen 
presence and mysterious energies cheer and bless the world He 
has made, that it can be enjoyed with its highest and most ap- 
propriate relish. It is this pious sentiment which gives such 
sublime beauty to the " Hymn on the Seasons" (at the close of 
thi;s volume) ; and perhaps there is no part of that hymn which 
raore successfully expresses the tenderness and devout admiration 
of a rightly constituted mind, in contemplating the wonders of 
Nature, than that which refers to Summer. 

Duncan. 



Snmmtx, 



THE AEGUMENT. 

The subject proposed. — Invocation. — Address to Mr. Doddington.— An introductory 
rellection on tlie motion of the heavenly bodies ; wlienco the succession of the sea- 
sons.— As tlie face of Nature in this season is almost uniform, the progress of the 
poem is a description of a summer's day. — The dawn, — Sun-rising. — Hymn to tlie 
sun. — Forenoon.— Summerinsectsdescribed.— Hay-making.— Sheep-shearing.— Noon- 
day.— A woodland retreat— Group of herds and flocks.— A solemn grove : how it 
affects a contemplative mind. — A cataract, and rude scene.— View of Summer in tho 
torrid zone.— Storm of thunder and lightning.- A tale.— The storm over, a sereno 
afternoon.— Bathing.— Hour of walking.— Transition to the prospect of a rich, well-cul- 
tivated country; which introduces a panegyric on Great Britain. — Simset. — Evening. — 
Night. — Siunmer meteors.— A comet— The whole concluding with the praise of phi- 
losophy. 



From bright'ning fields of ether fail* disclosed, 1 

Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, 
• In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth. 
He comes attended by the sultry Hours, 
And ever-fanning Breezes, on his way ; 5 

While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring 
Averts her blushful face, and earth and skies. 
All smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. 

1-8. "Who can f\iil to admire the beautiful personification of Summer 
in these lines, so far superior to the personification of Spring at the com- 
mencement of the poem ? Most appropriately is Summer described as 
the "child of tJie Sun," and as coming "from brightening fields of ether" 
(used by Thomson in the sense of atmosphere) : since, as a season, it 
owes its distinguishing features to the advancing fight and heat of tlie 



104: ' SUMMER. 

Hence, let me haste into the midwood shade. 
Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom ; 10 
And, on the dark-green grass, beside the brink 
Of haunted stream that by the roots of oak 
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large. 
And sing the glories of the circling year. 

Come, Inspiration ! from thy hermit-seat, 15 

By mortal seldom found : may fancy dare, 

Bun. It is also characterized as being " in the pride of youth," the dif- 
ferent seasons beginning with Spring, bearing a close and striking anal- 
ogy, in their order, to the four grand periods of human life. His at- 
tendants are the sultry Hours and ever-fanning Breezes ; while Spring 
modestly turns away her face from his ardent look, and resigns the 
earth and skies to his " hot dominion." 

6-8. If Whiter, according to the poet, mingles at first so much with 
Spring as to render it doubtful if the reign of the latter be commenced — 

" so that scarce 
The bittern knows his time, with bill ingnlfd, 
To shake the sounding marsh ; or, from the shore, 
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, 
And sing their wild-notes to the listening waste" — 

SO it must be difficult to say when Spring ceases, and Summer comes ; 
but the figurative Thomson reads this at once in the averted and blush- 
ing face of the virgin Spring, who modestly retires and makes way for 
her ardent successor. 

This is-a remark of Allan Cunningham, but is not strictly applicable to 
the text, though Thomson, for the sake of consistency and nature, should 
have made his text conformable to it — by impersonating Spring -as a 
female. Prof. "Wilson playfully alludes to the matter in these terms : — , 
" The poet, having made Summer masculine, makes Spring so too, which 
we cannot help thinking a flaw in this jewel of a picture. Ladies alone 
should avert their blushful faces from the ardent looks of gentlemen. 
Spring, in the character of 'ethereal Mildness,' was unquestionably a 
female, but here she is ' unsexed from the crown to the toe.' For Spring 
to avert his blushful face from the ardent looks of Summer, has on us 
the effect of making both seasons seem simpletons." 

12. Haunted stream: Stream frequented by fairies, ghosts, and other 
imaginary beings that fancy and superstition have begotten. 

15. Itiapiration : An imaginary divinity, to whom, with the license of 
a poet, he looks for poetic spirit, invention, and skill in the construction 
of his verse. It is more common, for such a purpose, to address the 
Muse ; and to her, indeed, the author refers in the twenty-first line. 



SUMMKK. 105 

Frcra th\; fix'd, oerioiis eye, and raptured glance 

Shot on surrounding heaven, to steal one look 

Creative of the Poet, everv power 

Exalting to an ecstasy of soul. 20 

And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend. 
In whom the human graces all unite : 
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart ; 
Genius, and wisdom ; the gay social sense, 
By decency chastised ; goodness and wit, . 25 

In seldom-meeting harmony combined ; 
Unblemish'd honor, and an active zeal 
For Britain's glory, liberty, and man ; 
Doddington ! attend my rural song, 
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line, . 30 

And teach me to deserve thy just applause. 

With what an awful world-revolving power. 
Were first th' unwieldy planets launch'd along 
Th' illimitable void ! thus to remain, 

Amid the flux of many thousand years, 35 

Thp,t oft has swept the toiling race of men 
And all their labor'd monuments away ; 
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course ; 
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day. 
And of the seasons ever stealing round, 40 

Minutely faithful. Such th' All-perfect Hand, 
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole. 



29. Doddington : The character and standing of this gentleman are 
fully drawn in the above lines, and also, perhaps with considerable ex- 
aggeration, in the Dedication originally prefixed to this part of the 
poem. It is to be conceded that Thomson, for the sake of needed pat- 
ronage, condescended to imitate the then common but undignified prac- 
tice of sending forth a poem under the auspices of a highly compliment- 
ary and flattering dedication. Hazlitt tells us, however, that 'i'homson 
on his death-bed expressed a wish that this dedication had been ex 
puuged. 

41. Minutely faithful : Among the wonders of Astronomy, and of 

5* 



106 summp:r. 

When now no more tli' alternate Twins are fired, 
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze. 
Short is the doubtful empire of the night : 4< 

.And soon, observant, of approaching day, 

' THE CHARMS OF EARLY MORN. 

The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews. 
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east ; 

Divine Power and Wisdom, is the fact here noted, that notwithstanding 
the magnificence of the scale, on which the celestial bodies move — the 
vast spaces in which they perform their revolutions — there is yet such 
wonderful exactness and order, that their positions at any assigned 
period can be unerringly calculated. Thomson particularly refers to the 
wise arrangement for securing the alternation of day and night (by the 
diurnal motion of the earth), and for securing the change of seasons (by 
its annual motion). The calculation of the eclipses of the sun and moon, 
j> and of Jupiter's satellites, that may be made for years and ages in ad- 
vance, and the times of which shall be exactly verified by the event, 
prove the matchless order that prevails amid the apparent irregularities 
and complexities of the Solar System. 

43. Alternate Twins : Gemini, that constellation of the Zodiac which 
the sun appears to enter about the 21st of May. It is distinguished by 
two bright stars called Castor and Pollux, whence the constellation re- 
ceived its name. The epithet alternate is not descriptive of these stars, 
but merely allusive to the classical fable of the twin-brothers whose 
Barnes are given to these stars and to the constellation in which they are 
found. Castor having been slain, Pollux bewailed his loss. Having in 
prayer spread out his griefs before Jupiter, the choice was proposed to 
him of t^ing himself elevated to Olympus and sharing with Mars and 
Minerva the pleasures of the gods constantly, or of dividing them with 
bis deceased brother — Castor and Pollux spending day and day alter- 
nately in heaven and beneath the earth. Pollux cho&e the latter arrange- 
ment, and thus generously resigned to his brother the enjoyment of 
heaven every alternate day. 

44. Cancer (the Crab) : That constellation which the Sun appears to 
enter about the 21st of June, when the nights are shortest, and when it 
is of doubtful propriety to speak of the "empire" of the night at alL 
In the high latitude of Britain, the evening twilight extends to so late an 
hour in the night, and the morning twilight commences at so early an 
hour in the morning, that nK more, perhaps, than thre t hoiurs can be de* 
aomiiuiated night 



SUMMER. 107 

Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow. 
And, from before the lustre of her face, 50 

White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step. 
Brown Night retires ; young Day pours in apace, 
And opens all the lawny prospect wide. 
The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, 
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 55 

Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine, 
And from the bkded field the fearful hare' 
Limps, awkward ; while along the forest glade, 
The wild deer trip, and often turning, gaze 
At early passenger. Music awakes 60 

The native voice of undissembled joy ; , 
And thick around the woodland, hymns arise. 
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves 
lOs mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; 
And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 65 

His flock, to taste the vei-dure of the morn. 
Falsely luxurious ! will not man awake. 



47. A most beautiful line ! The meek-eyed Morn is called the mother 
of dews because the Dews are most copious in the earliest hours of morn 
— in the morning twilight. 

51-66. Amid the landscape glow of this season, there are many pic- 
tures of individual loveliness which stand distinct and alone : that of the 
morning is as true as it is clear. — C. 

52. Brown Night : The fitness of this epithet, instead of black, will be 
discovered by reference to note on 44. The personification of Night and 
Day gives to the description great vivacity and beauty. 

67-80. Falsely luxurious, <fec. : The appeal to the indolent expressed 
in these lines is an eloquent and just one, but gsnerally, alas ! unheeded 
by those whose business does not require them to leave the bed at so 
early an hour. The poet, if report be true, did not sufficiently feel the 
force of it to act upon it, but was a " falsely luxurious man." " Never 
before or since" (Hugh Miller remarks) " was there a man of genius 
wrought out of such mild and sluggish elements as the bard of the 
' Seasons.' A listless man was James Thomson ; kindly-hearted ; much 
loved by all his friends; little {^iven to think of himself; 'more fat 
than breed beseems.' And to Hagley he used to come, as Shenstone 



J.08 SOIMEE. 

And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy 

The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, 

To meditation due and sacred song ? TO 

For is there aught in sleep can charm the "wise 

To lie in dead oblivion, losing half 

The fleeting moments of too short a life ? 

(Total extinction of th' enlighten'd soul !) 

Or else, to feverish vanity alive, 75 

Wilder'd, arid tossing through distem'|fcr'd dreams ? 

Who would in such a gloomy state remain 

Longer than Nature craves ; when every Muse 

And every blooming pleasure wait without, 

To bless the wildly devious morning walk ? 80 

THE POWERFUL KING OF DAY. 

But yonder comes the powerful King of day. 
Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud. 
The kindhng azure, and the mountain's brow 
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach . 
Betoken glad. Lo ! now, apparent all, 85 

Aslant the dew-bright earth, and color'd air. 
He looks in boundless majest}'- abroad ; 

tells us, in a hired chaise, drawn by two horses ranged lengthwise, to lie 
a-bed till long past mid-day, because he had 'no motive' to rise ; and to 
browse in the gardens on the sunny side of the peaclies, with his hands 
stuck in his pockets." Let not this account of the author detract, how 
ever, from the legitimate influence of his admirable appeal in behalf of 
early -rising ; and let it be remembered that no corporeal habit should be 
more earnestly and deservedly recommended to be formed in early life. 
Biography teems with examples of the great achievements wrought in 
art, science, literature, and religion in consequence of the formation of 
this habit. Life is too short to waste any of it beyonu what Nature 
craves, " in dead oblivion." 

78. Every Muse : The idea is, that an early walk will afford to the 
poet some happy images and thoughts— will give an impulse to compose 
in lofty verse. 



BUMMER. , 109^ 

And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays 
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams. 
High gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer. Light ! 90 

Of all material beings first and best ! 
Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! 
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapp'd 
In unessential gloom ! and thou, Sun ! 
Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom best seen 95 

Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee ? 
'Tis by thy secret, strong, attractive force. 
As with a chain indissoluble bound. 
Thy system rolls entire ; from the far bourne 
Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round 100 



92. Efflux divine: Or, as Milton more fully denominates it, "bright 
efliuence of bright essence increate." The entire description of the blind 
bai-d may with great advantage to the reader be here subjoined : 

Hail, holy Light ! offspring of heaven first-born, 

Or of th' Eternal coeternal beam 

May I express thee, unblamed ? Since God is light, 

And never but in unapprqached light 

Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee. 

Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 

Or hoarest thou rather pure ethereal stream, 

Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun, 

Before the heavens thou w^ert, and at the voice 

Of God, as with a mantle didst invest 

The rising world of waters dark and deep, 

"Won from the void and formless infinite. 

Par. Lost, Bk. III. 

100. Utmost Saturn : When this poem was written (1727), no planet 
more remote than Saturn had been discovered. Herschel and Neptune 
have since been brought to view, wheeling their vastly more magnificent 
rounds. While the revolution of Saturn requires 10,759 days, that of 
Herschel embraces 30,759, and Neptune occupies 60,1 28^ Each of these 
two latter planets has a diameter of 35,000 English miles ; that of Saturn . 
being 79,000. The mean distances from the sun at which these planets 
describe their enormous orbits may be profitably adduced, to give ua 
more just conceptions " of the strong, attractive force" of the sun. Sat- 
imi revolves at the distance of 900,000,000 miles ; Herschel, 1,800,000,000; 
Neptune, 2,850,000,000. How appropriately does the poet denominate 
the Sun the powerfiU King of day, drawing those stupendous bodief, and 



110 ^ SUMMER. 

Of thirty years, to Mercury, whoso disk 

Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye. 

Lost in the near effulgence of thy bhize. 

Informer of the planetary train 1 

W.'thout whose quick'ning glance their cumbrous orbs 105 

Were brute, unlovely mass, inert and dead. 

And not, as now, the green abodes of hfe ! 

How many forms of being wait on thee, 

Inhaling spirit, from th' unfetter'd.mind. 

By thee sublimed, down to the daily race, 110 

The mixing myriads of thy setting beam ! 

The vegetable world is also thine. 
Parent of Seasons ! which the pomp precede. 
That waits thy throne, as through thy vast domain, 
Annual, along the bright ecliptic road, 115 

In world-rejoicing state, it moves sublime. 
Meantime th' expecting nations, circled gay 
With all the various tribes of foodful earth. 
Implore thy bounty, or send grateful up 
A common hymn ; while, round the beaming car, 120 

High seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance, 

preventing them, by his attractive force, from abandoning, in their rapid 
course, the comprehensive curves assigned them ! 

104. Informer, <fec. : The meaning of this term as used here, and by 
poets generally, is that of animating principle, proximate source of life — 
or the instrument by wliich vitality is communicated to the planetary 
worlds, or by which they are made " the green abodes of life." The 
same idea has been given above in the expression, " Soul of surrounding 
"worlds," and is illustrated at length in this and several succeeding para- 
graphs. 

113-129. Parent of Seasons : The apparent march of the sun in the 
ecliptic gives us our seasons. It is here represented as a triumphal pro- 
cession. The Sun is making an annual tour in his beaming car, as a royal 
benefactor, with great pomp and majesty. Above and around, the Sea- 
sons are leading, in sprightly dance and harmonious union, the rosy-fin- 
gered Hours, the Zephyrs, the Rains, the Dews, and the milder Storms. 
The passage owes its great beauty to the skilful use of the figure of 
Pereonification, applied to the Sun, the Seasons, the Hour^ <fec. 



SFMMER. Ill 

* 

Harmonious knit, the rosy-finger'd Hours, 

The Zephyrs lloating loose, the timely Rains, 

Of bloom ethereal the hght-footed Dews, 

And soften'd into joy the surly Storms. 125 

These, in successive turn, Avith lavish hand. 

Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower, 

Herbs, flowers, and fruits ; till, kindhng at thy touch. 

From land to land is flush'd the vernal year. 

Nor to the surface of enliven'd earth, 130 

Graceful with hills and dales, and leafy woods, 
Her liberal tresses, is thy force confined ; 
But, to the bowell'd cavern darting deep. 
The rnineral kinds confess thy mighty power. 
Effulgent, hence the veiny marble shines ; 135 

Hence Labor draws his tools ; hence burnish'd War 
Gleams on the day ; the nobler works of Peace 
Hence bless mankind, and generous Commerce binds 
The round of nation,s in a golden chain. 

Th' unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee, 140 



129. Is flushed the vernal year: Is made to burst forth the year in 
Spring : the year is arrayed in the gay abundance of her Spring 
reason. 

133. The poet rather exaggerates the poorer of the Sun, by ascribin-? 
io it the metaUic and mineral riches beneath the surface of the earth. 
His theory also of the fiormation of tlie diamond (140-1) is a mere poeti- 
cal fancy. Its surpassing brilliancy justifies, however, the author in de- 
nning it " collected light." Its superior hardness proves also its com- 
pactness. Next to the diamond in hardness and value is the Ruby (147); 
its color being a bright red, sometimes tending to a violet. The Sappliirt 
(149), another valuable stone, from its bluish, azure hue, is not unaptly 
denominated solid ether. Those that follow are suthciently described by 
our author: yet in regard to the Opal (156), a word of explanation may 
be needed. The statement is, that all the several rays of the sun com- 
bined play through the opal: that is, the opal in a certain position trans- 
mits white light, whereas the other precious stones (except the diamond) 
transmit only a portion of the sunbeam — some the green, <fec. The 
opal in another site, or jposition, reflects to the eye a variety of delicate 
huee> 



SUMMER 

In dark retirement forms the lucid stone. 

The Uvely Diamond drinks thy purest rays, 

Collected light, compact ; that, poUsh'd bright, 

And all its native lustre let abroad. 

Dares, as it sparkles on the fair one's breast, ' 145 

With vain ambition emulate her eyes. 

At thee the Ruby'lights its deepening glow. 

And with a waving radiance inward flames. 

From thee the Sapphire, solid ether, takes 

Its hue cerulean ; and, of evening tinct, 150 

The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine. 

With thy own smile the yellow Topaz burns. 

Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of Spring, 

When first she gives it to the southern gale. 

Than the green Emerald shows. But, all combined, 156 

Thick through the whitening Opal play thy beams ; 

Or, flying several from its surface, form 

A trembUng variance of revolving hues. 

As the site varies in the gazer's hand. 

The very dead creation, fr(?m thy touch, 160 

Assumes a mimic life. By thee refined, 
In brighter mazes the relucent stream 
Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt, 
Projecting horror on the blacken'd flood. 
Softens at thy return. The desert joys, 165 

Wildly, through all his melancholy bounds. 
Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep. 
Seen from some pointed promontory's top. 
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge, 
Pi.es tless, reflects a floating gleam. But this, 170 

And all the much transported Muse can sing. 
Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use. 



150. The Amethyst is of evening tinct, or of the color that early evening 
Uiteumes. 



SUMMER. 113 



Unequal far ; great delegated source 

Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below ! 



THE ETERNAL CAU^, SUPPORT, AND END OF CREATION, 

How shall I then attempt to sing of Him, 1 75 

Who, Light Himself, in uncreated light 
Invested deep, dwells awfully retired 
From mortal eye, or angel's purer ken ! 
Whose single smile has, from the first of time, 
Fill'd overflowing, all those lamps of heaven, 180 

That beam forever through the boundless sky : 
But, should He hide his face, th' astonish'd sun 
And all th' extino-uish'd stars would loosening reel 

o o 

Wide from their spheres, and Chaos come again. 

And yet was ev'ry faltering tongue of man, 185 

Almighty Father ! silent in thy praise ; 

Thy Works themselves would raise a general voice. 

E'en in the depth of solitary woods 

By human foot untrod ; proclaim thy power. 

And to the choir celestial Thee resound, 190 

Th' eternal cause, support, and end of all ! 

To me be Nature's volume broad display'd ; 
And to peruse its all-instructing page. 
Or, haply catching inspiration thence. 
Some easy passage raptured to translate, 195 

My sole delight ; as through the falling glooms 
Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn 
On Fancy's eagle wing excursive soar. 



178-180. I cannot forbear to call the attention of the reader to the 
original and exquisite manner in which the illumination of the heavenly- 
bodies is here accounted for. The conception is one that none but a man 
of poetic genius could have formed, and so happily expressed. 



114 SUMMER. 



THE SUMMER FORENOON. 

Now, flaming up the heavens, the potent sun 
Melts into hmpid air the high-raised clouds, 200 

And morning fogs, that hover'd round the hills 
In party- color'd bands ; till wide unveil'd, 
The face of Kature shines, from where earth seems. 
Far stretch'd around, to meet the bending sphere. 

Half in a blush of clustering roses lost, 205 

Dew-dropping Coolness to the shade retires ; 
There, on the verdant turf, or flowery bed, 
By gelid founts and careless rills to muse ; 
While tyrant Heat, dispreading through the sky. 
With rapid sway, his burning influence darts 210 

On man and beast, and herb and tepid stream. 
Who can unpitying see the flowery race. 
Shed by the morn, their new-flush'd bloom resign, 
Before the parching beam ? So fade the fair. 
When fevers revel through their azure veins. 215 

But one, the lofty follower of the sun. 
Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves, 
Drooping all night ; and, when he warm returns. 
Points her enamor'd bosom to his ray. 

Home, from his morning task, the swain retreats, 220 
His flock before him stepping to the fold ; 
While the full-udder'd mother lows around 
The cheerful cottage, then expecting food. 
The food of innocence and health ! The daw. 
The rook and magpie, to the gray-grown oaks 225 

That the calm village in their verdant arms. 
Sheltering, embrace, direct their lazy flight ; 
Where on the mingling boughs they sit embower'd. 
All the hot noon, till cooler hours arise. 

216. One: The sun-flower 



5^UMMKK. 115 

Faint, underneath, the household fowls convene ; 230 

And, in a corner of the buzzing shade, 

The house-dog with the vacant grayhound lies, 

Outstretch'd and sleepy. In his slumbers one 

Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults 

O'er hill and dale ; till, waken'd by the wasp, 235 

They starting snap. Nor shall the Muse disdain 

To let the little noisy summer race 

Live in her lay, and flutter through her song ; 

Not mean though simple. To the sun allied, 

From him they draw their animating fire. 240 

SUMMER INSECTS. 

Waked by his warmer ray, the reptile young 
Come wing'd abroad ; by the light air upborne, 
Lighter, and full of soul. From every chink. 
And secret corner, where they slept away 
The wintry storms ; or, rising from their tombs, 245 

To higher life ; by myriads, forth at once. 
Swarming they pour ; of all the varied "hues 
Their beauty-beaming parent can disclose. 
Ten thousand forms, ten thousand difi'erent tribes 
People the blaze. To sunny waters some 260 

By fatal instinct fly ; where on the pool 
They sportive wheel : or, sailing down the stream. 
Are snatch'd immediate by the quick-eyed trout. 
Or darting salmon. Through the greenwood glade. 
Some love to stray ; there lodged, amused, and fed, 255 
In the fresh leaf. Luxurious, others make 
The meads their choice, and visit every flower 
And every latent herb ; for the sw^eet task 
To propagate their kinds, and where to wrap, 
In what soft beds, their young yet undisclosed, 260 

Employs their tender care. Some to the house, 



116 SUMMER. 

The fc/Id and dairy, hungry, bend their flight ; 
Sip round the pail, or taste the curdling cheese. 
i Oft, inadvertent, from the milky stream 

They meet their fate ; or, weltering in the bowl, 265 

With powerless wings around them wrapp'd, expire. 

But chief to heedless flies, the window proves 
A constant death ; where gloomily retired, 
The villain spider lives, cunning and fierce, 
(Mixture abhorr'd !) Amid a mangled heap 270 

Of carcasses, in eager watch he sits, 
O'erlookinof all his wavins: snares around. 
Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft 
Passes, as oft the ruffian shows his front. 
The prey at last ensnared, he dreadful darts, 275 

With rapid glide, along the leaning line ; 
And, fixino^ in the wretch his cruel fancrs. 
Strikes backward, grimly pleased. The fluttering wing 
And shriller sound declare extreme distress, 
And ask the helping, hospitable hand. 280 

Resounds the living surface of the ground ; 
Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum 
To him who muses through the woods at noon ; 
Or drowsy shepherd, as he lies reclined, 
With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade 285 

Of willows gray, close crowding o'er the brook. 

Gradual from these what numerous kinds descend, 
Evading e'en the microscopic eye ! 
Full Nature swarms with life ; one Wondrous mass 
Of animals, or atoms organized, 290 

Waiting the vital breath, when parent Heaven 
Shall bid his spirit blow. The hoary fen. 
In putrid streams, emits the living cloud 
Of pestilence. Through subterranean cells, 
Where searchmg sunbeams scarce can find a way, 295 

Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf 



SUilMEU. 117 

Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure, 

Within its winding citcidel, the stone 

Holds multitudes. But chief the forest boughs, 

Tliat dance unnumber'd to the phiyful breeze, 300 

The downy orchard, and the melting pulp 

Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed 

Of evanescent insects. Where the pool 

Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible, 

Amid the floating verdure millions stray. 305 

Each liquid too, whether it pierces, soothes, 

Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste. 

With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream 

Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air. 

Though one transparent vacancy it seems, 310 

Void of their unseen people. These, conceal'd 

By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape 

The grosser eye of man ; for, if the worlds 

In worlds inclosed should on his senses burst, 

From cates ambrosial, and the nectar 'd bowl, • 315 

He would abhorrent turn ; and in dead night, 

When silence sleeps o'er all, be stunn'd with noise. 

KOTHING FORMED IN V^IN OR WITHOUT A WISE PURPOSE. 

Let no presuming^ impious railer tax 
Creative Wisdom, as if aught* was formed 
In vain, or not for admirable ends. 320 

Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce 
His works unwise, of which the smallest part 
Exceeds the narrow vision of her mind ? 
As if upon a full-proportion'd dome, 

315. Cates : Rich food. Ambrosial: Delightful to the taste and smell • 
from ambrosia, the food of the gods, according to classical C'ble W 
iar'd bowl : Bowl supplied with delicious drink, fit for the god^-as neaar 
was the name of the liquor supposed to l»e drank by them. 



118 SUMMER. 

On swelling columns heaved, the pride of art ! 325 

A critic fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads 

An inch around, with blind presumption bold, 

Should dare to tax the structure of the whole. 

And lives the man, whose universal eye 

Has swept at once th' unbounded scheme of things ; S30 

Mark'd their dependence so, and firm accord, 

As with unfaltering accent to conclude 

That this availeth naught ? Has any seen 

The mighty chain of beings, lessening down 

From Infinite Perfection to the brink 385 

Of dreaiy nothing, desolate abyss ! 

From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns ? 

Till then, alone let zealous praise ascend, 

And hymns of holy wonder to that Power, 

Whose wisdom shines as lovely on our minds, 340 

As on our smiling eyes his servant sun. 

Thick in yon stream of light, a thousand ways, 
Upward and downward, thwarting and convolved. 
The quivering nations sport ; till, tempest- wing'd. 
Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day, 345 

E'en so luxurious men, unheeding, pass 
An idle summer hfe in fortune's shine, 
A season's glitter. Thus they flutter on 
From toy to toy, from vanity to vice ; 
Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes 350 

Behind, and ^strikes them from the book of life. 

HAY-MAKING. 

K'ow swarms the village o'er the jovial mead : 
The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil. 



883. This: This particular thing or that—any thing which God baa 
made, 



SUMMKK. 119 

Healthful and strong ; full as the summer rose 

Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, 356 

Half naked, swelling on the sight, and all 

Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. 

E'en stooping age is here ; and infant hands 

Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load 

O'ercharged, amid the kind oppression roll. 860 

Wide flies the tedded grain. All in a row 

Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, 

They spread the breathing harvest to the sun, 

That throws refreshful round a rural smell : 

Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, 365 

And drive the dusky wave along the mead, 

The russet haycock rises thick behind, 

In order gay. While heard from dale to dale, " 

Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice 

Of happy labor, love, and social glee. S70 

• SHEEP-SHEARING. 

Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, 
They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog 
Compelled, to where the mazy-running brook 
Fonns a deep pool : this bank abrupt and high. 



361. Tedded: Spread out for the purpose of being dried by the suf 
The hay-field i3 well described in the following paragraph : 

" I beheve few people," says Dr. Duncan, " have beheld the occupation" 
of the hay-field, which this beautiful season everywhere presents, without 
feeling a very pure and elevated delight. The mowers moving gracefully 
in concert, the grass falling sheer beneath the scythe, its graceful fra 
grance, the maidens raking or tedding the hay, the loading of the carts to 
remove it to the barn-yard, all excite a sensible pleasure in almost every 
mind. Tliis enjoyment, both in the bystander and those who are engaged 
iu this rural occupation, seems almost entirely the result of association ; 
it arises chiefly from suggestions and feelings of a moral and benevolent 
kmd." 



120 BUMMKE. 

And that fair- spreading in a pebbled shore. 375 

• Urged to the giddy brink, much is the toil, 
The clamor much, of men and boys and dogs, 
Ere the soft fearful people to the flood 
Commit their woolly sides. And oft the swain, 
On some impatient seizing, hurls theifl in. 380 

Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more, 
Fast, fast they plunge amid the flashing wave, 
And, panting, labor to the farther shore. 
Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece 
Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 885 

The trout is banish'd by the sordid stream. 
Heavy and dripping, to the breezy brow 
Slow move the harmless race ; where, as they spread 
Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, 
Inly disturb'd and wondering what this wild 390 

Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints 
The country fill ; and, toss'd from rock to rock, 
Incessant bleatings run around the hills. 
At last, of snowy white, the gather'd Hocks 
Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd 395 

Head above head : and ranged in kisty rows. 
The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. 
The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, 
With all her gay-dress'd maids attending round. 
One, chief, in gracious dignity enthroned, - 400 

Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen, and rays 
Her smiles, sweet beaming on her shepherd king ; 
While the glad circle round them yield their souls 
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. 
Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace : 405 

405-22. That the author had a fine taste and accurate eye for painting, 
may be gathered from groupings and descriptions without end ; for hia 
" Seasons" are a great gallery of all manner of pictures — scriptural, his- 
torical, and domestic. He is a rural and landscape painter of the noblest 



su:mmek. 121 

Some mingling stir the melted tar, and some, 
Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side, 
To stamp the master's cipher ready stand. 
Others th' unwilling wether drag along ; 
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy 410 

Holds by the twisted horns th' indignant ram. 
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft, 
By needy man, that all-depending lord. 
How meek, how patient, the mild creattlre lies ! 
What softness in its melancholy face, 415 

What dumb complaining innocence appears ! 
Fear not, ye gentle tribes ; 'tis not the knife 
Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you waved ; 
No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears, 
Who having now, to pay his annual care, 420 

Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load. 
Will send you bounding to your hills again. 
A simple scene ! yet hence, Britannia sees 
Her solid grandeur rise : hence, she commands 
Th' exalted stores of every brighter clime, 425 

The treasures of the sun without his rage : 
Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts. 
Wide glows her land : her dreadful thunder, hence. 
Rides o'er the waves sublime, and now, e'en now, 



kind. His slieep-shearing was seen through no other eyes save his own. 
The sweet humanity with which this scene closes is in tlie same sym- 
pathizing mood "with those lines which paint, first, the mariner ship- 
wrecked and alone on the burning coast of savage Africa (939-50), and 
the caravan cf Mecca caught by the simoom in the sandy desert (961-79) • 
the close of the latter is one of the most touching passages in poetry. — C. 

40-8. Cipher: Mark of property — generally the initials of the master's 
name. 

423. Britannia : The Latin name for Britain. The Romans invaded it 
in the time of Julius Cajsar, and retained possession of a part of it until 
the fifdi century, 

428. Thunder : That of the cannon of her navy : by a figure of speech 
liere put for the navy. 

U 



122 SUMMER. 

Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled const ; 430 

Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world. 

NOON-DAY. 

'Tis raging noon ; and, vertical, the sun 
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays. 
O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye 
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns, and all, 435 

From pole to pole, is undistinguish'd blaze. 
In vain the sight, dejected, to the ground 
Stoops for rehef ; thence hot ascending steams 
And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root 
Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields 440 

And slippery lawn, an arid hue disclose. 
Blast fancy's bloom, and wither e'en the soul. 
Echo no more returns the cheerful sound 
Of sharpening scythe : the mower sinking, heaps 
O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed; 445 

And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard 
Through the dumb mead. Distressful Nature pants : 
The very streams look languid from afar ; 
Or, through the unshelter'd glade, impatient, seem 
To hurl into the covert of the grove. 450 

All-conquering Heat, oh, intermit thy wrath ! 
And on my throbbing temples potent thus 
Beam not so fierce ! Incessant still you flow, 
And still another fervent flood succeeds, 
Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, 455 

And restless turn, and look around for night : 
Night is far off"; and hotter hours approach. ^ 

Thrice happy he ! who on the sunless side 

430. Gallia : The Latin name for France, which Julius Caesar also in 
Taded, and subjected to the Roman sway. 
439. defection : That is, of the sun's rays. 



SUMMEK. 1 23 

Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd, 

Beneath the whole collected shade reclines : 460 

Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought, 

And fresh bedew'd with ever-spouting streams, 

Sits coolly calm; while all the world without, 

Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon : 

Emblem instructive of the virtuous man, 4G5 

"Who keeps his teraper'd mind serene and pure, 

And every passion aptly harmonized. 

Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed. 

a-- 

A WOODtAND SCENE. 

Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets, hail ! 
Ye lofty pines ! ye venerable oaks ! 470 

Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep ! 
Dehcious is your shelter to the soul. 
As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, ■ 
Or stream full flowinf^, that his swellinof sides 
Laves, as he floats along the herbaged brink. 475 

Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides : 
The heart beats glad ; the fresh-expanded eye 
And ear resume their watch ; the sinews knit ; 
And life shoots swift through all the lighten'd limbs. 

Around th' adjoining brook, that purls along 480 

The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock. 
Now scarcely moving through a reedy pool. 
Now starting to a sudden stream, and now 
Gently diffused into a limpid plain ; 

A various group the herds and flocks compose, 485 

Kural confusion ! On the grassy bank 
Some ruminating lie ; while others stand 
Half in the flood, and often bending sip 
The circling surface. In the middle droops 
The strong, laborious oy, of honest front, 490 



124: SUMMKK. 

"Which incomposed he shakes ; and from his sides 

The troublous insects lashes with his tail, 

Returning still. Amid his subjects, safe, 

Slumbers the monarch swain ; his careless arm 

Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustain'd ; 405 

Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands fiU'd ; 

There, listening every noise,. his watchful dog. 

Light fly his slumbers, if perchance a flight 

Of angry gadflies fasten on the herd ; 

That startling scatter from the shallow brook, 500 

In search of lavish stream. Tossing the foam. 

They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain, 

Through all the bright severity of noon ; 

While, from their laboring breasts, a hollow moan. 

Proceeding, runs low bellowing round the hills. 505 

Oft in this season too, the horse provoked, 
While his big sinews full of spirits swell, 
• Trembling with vigor, in the heat of blood. 
Springs the high fence ; and, o'er the field eff'used. 
Darts on the gloomy flood, with steadfast eye, 510 

And heart estranged to fear. His nervous chest. 
Luxuriant and erect, the seat of strength, 
Bears down th' opposing stream. Quenchless his thirst. 
He takes the river at redoubled draughts ; 
And with wide nostril, snorting, skims the wave. 615 

Still let me pierce into the midnight depth 
Of yonder grove, of wildest, largest growth. 
That, formincf hio-h in air a woodland choir. 
Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step. 
Solemn and slow, the shadows blacker fall, 520 

And all is awful, listening gloom around ! 

<rhese are the haunts of Meditation ; these 
The scenes where ancient bards th' inspiring breath, 

491. Incomposed: Disturbed. 



SUMMER. 



125 



Ecstatic, felt ; and, from this world retired, 

Conversed with angels and immortal forms, 525 

On gracious errands bent : to save the fall 

Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice ; 

In waking whispers, and repeated dreams. 

To hint pure thought, and warn the favor'd soul 

For future trials fated to prepare ; 630 

To prompt the poet, who devoted gives 

His muse to better themes ; to soothe the pangs 

Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast 

(Backward to mingle in detested war. 

But foremost when engaged) to turn the death ; 535 

And numberless such offices of love, 

Daily. and nightly, zealous to perform. 

Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, 
A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk. 
Or stalk majestic on. Deep roused, I feel 540 

A sacred terror, a severe delight 

Creep through my mortal frame ; and thus, methinks, 
A voice, than human more, th' abstracted ear 
Of fancy strikes : — " Be not of us afraid. 
Poor kindred man! Thy fellow-creatures, we 545 

From the same Parent Power our being drew ; 
The same our Lord and laws and great pursuit. 
Once, some of us, like thee, through stormy life, 

523. Ancient bards : Inspired Hebrew bards. To no others ia the lan- 
guage tliat follows appropriate. Thomson assigns to angelic beings, visit- 
ing our earth, a variety of offices that have fancy rather than Scripture 
or argument for their support. As a f iiicy sketch, the picture is beauti 
ful : as a sketch of real life, there is a lack of evidence in support of its 
correctness. 

539. Shapes : That is, of Jeparled spirits, whom the poet fancies to be 
present at this hour of noon, and to address him. He does not claim that 
he heard their voice with the ear of the body, but with the abstracted ear 
of fancy. The introduction of this passage gives novelty and variety to 
the narrative, turning our thoughts to tlie probable occupations of de- 
ceased friends, and leading us iu*o, at least, a pleasant speculation. 



12G SUMMER. 

Toil'd, tempest-beaten, ere we could attain 

This holy calm, this harmony of mind, 550 

Where purity and peace im mingle charms. 

Then fear not us ; but with responsive song, 

Amid these dim recesses, undisturb'd 

By noisy folly and discorplant vice, 

Of Nature sing with us, and Nature's God. 555 

Here frequent, at the visionary hour, 

When musing midnight reigns or silent noon, 

Angelic harps are in full concert heard. 

And voices chanting from the wood-crovvn'd hill, 

The deepening dale, or inmost silvan glade : 630 

A privilege bestow'd by us, alone, ^ 

On Contemplation, or the hallow'd ear 

Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain." 

And art thou, Stanley, of that sacred band ? 
Alas, for us too soon ! Though raised above 565 

The reach of human pain, above the flight 

564. Stanhrj : Miss Elizabeth Stanley — a young lad}^ well known to 
the author, who died at the age of eighteen in the year 1788. For her 
Thomson wrote a long and beautiful epitaph, which is included among his 
publis^lied poems. She was buried in Holyrood church, St)uthampton. 
'i'he epitaph speaks of her as the pride and delight of her parents ; the 
joy, the consolation, and pattern of lier friends ; a mistress not only of the 
English and French, but in a high degree of the Greek and llomau learn- 
ing, yet without vanity or pedantry. 

It may here be asked how Thomson, having published this poem in 
1127, could commemorate the death of a young lady which occurred 
more than ten years afterwards. The explanation is easy. In succos- 
eive editions the author, nearly up to the period of his death in 1748, 
was accustomed to make alterations, to add and to withdraw, as suited 
his improving taste or the progress of events. ** These Poems" (tlie Sea- 
sons) " with which," says Dr. Samuel Johnson, " I was acquainted at their 
first appearance, I have since found altered and enlarged by subsequent 
revisals, as the author supposed his judgment to grow more exact, and as 
books or conversation extended his knowledge, and opened his prospects 
They are, as I think, improved in general ; yet I know not whether they 
have not lost part of what Temple calls their ' race ;' a word which, ap 
plied to wines m its primitive sense, means the flavor of the soil." 



sdmmj:r. 12T 

Of human joy ; yet, with a mingled ray 

Of sadly pleased remembrance, must thou feel 

A mother's love, a mother's tender woe ; 

Who seeks thee still in many a former scene ; 670 

Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely beaming eyes, 

Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense 

Inspired ; where mortal wisdom mildly shone, 

Without the toil of art ; and virtue glow'd. 

In all her smiles, without forbidding pride. 5*75 

But, thou best of parents ! wipe thy tears ; 

Or rather to Parental Nature pay 

The tears of grateful joy, who for a while 

Lent thee this younger self, this opening bloom 

Of thy enlighten'd mind and gentle worth. 580 

Believe the Muse ; the wintry blast of death 

Kills not the buds of virtue ; no, they spread. 

Beneath the heavenly beam of brighter suns. 

Through endless ages, into higher powers. 

THE ROMANTIC WATER-FALL. 

Thus up the mount, in airy vision wrapp'd, 585 

I stray, regardless whither ; till the sound 
Of a near fall of water every sense 

Wakes from the charm of thought : swift shrinking back, 
I check my steps, and view the broken scene. 

Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood 590 

Rolls fair and placid ; where, collected all 
In one impetuous torrent, d'own the steep 
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round. 
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad ; 
Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls, 695 

And from the loud-resounding rocks below 
Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft 
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower. 



128 SUMMKK. 

Kor can the tortured wave here find repose : 

But, raging still ainid the shaggy rocks, 600 

Now flashes o'er tlie scatter'd fragments, now 

Aslant the hollow channel rapid darts ; 

And, falling fast from gradual slope to slope, 

With wild, infracted course and lessened roar. 

It o;ains a safer bed, and steals, at last, 605 

Along the mazes of the quiet vale. 

Invited from the cliff, to whose dark brow 
He clings, the steep-ascending eagle soars, 
With upward pinions, through the flood of day ; 
And, giving full his bosom to the blaze, > 610 

Gains on the sun : while all the tuneful race, 
Smit by afllictive noon, disorder'd droop. 
Deep in the thicket ; or, from bower to bower 
Responsive, force an interrupted strain. 
The stock-dove only through the forest coos, 615 

Mournfully hoarse ; oft ceasing from his plaint. 
Short interval of weary woe f Again 



608. Steep-ascending eagle : To the eagle mankind have agreed (sfiya 
Mrs. Ellis) in assigning a sort of regal character, from the majesty of his' 
bearing, and the proud pre-eminence he maintains amongst the feathered 
tribe ; from the sublimity of his chosen home, far above the haunts of 
man and meaner animals, from the self-seclusion in v,^hich he holds him- 
self apart from the general association of living and familiar things, and 
from the beauty and splendor of his sagacious eye, which shrinks not 
from the dazzling glare of the sun itself 

615. The stock-dove : The wild pigeon of Europe, formerly supposed to 
be the stock whence originated the domestic pigeon, but now regarded as 
a distinct species. The writer last quoted gives an account of the dove 
80 attractive that it is worthy of being inserted here. Above all other 
birds (she remarks) the dove is most intimately and familiarly associated 
with ideas of the quiet seclusion of rural life, and the enjoyment of peace 
and love. 'J'his sijnple bird, by no means remarkable for its sagacity, so 
soft in its coloring and graceful in its form, that we cannot behold it with- 
out being conscious of its perfect loveliness, is in some instances endowed 
with an extraordinary instinct, which adds greatly to its poetical interest. 
That species called the carrier-pigeon, has often been celebrated for the 



SUiOIER. 129 

The sad idea of his murder'd mate, 

Struck from his side by savage fowler's guile, 

•Across his fancy comes ; and then resounds 620 

A louder song of sorrow through the grove. 

Beside the dewy border let me sit, 
All in the freshness of the humid air : 
There in that hollow'd rock, grotesque and wild, 
An ample chair moss-hned, and over head 625 

By flowering umbrage shaded ; where the bee 
Strays diligent, and with tli' extracted balm 
Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh. 

THE WONDERS OF THE TORRID ZONE. 

Now, while I taste the sweetness of the shade. 
While Nature lies around deep luU'd in noon, 630 

Now come, bold Fancy, spread a daring flight. 
And view the wonders of the torrid zone ; 



faithfulness -with -which it pursues its mysterious way, but never more 
beautifully than iu the following lines by Moore : 

The bird let loose in eastern skies, 

When hastening fondly home, 
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, or fliea 

Where idler wanderers roam ; 

Btit high she shoots through air and light, 

Above all low delay, 
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 

Or bhadow dims her way. 

But neither the wonderful instinct of this undeviatin;^ messenger, 
nor even the classical association of two white doves with the queen 
of love and beauty, are more powerful in awakening poetical ideas tlian 
the simple cooing of our own wood-pigeon, heard sometimes in the solem- 
nity of summer's noon, when there is no other sound but the hum of the 
wandering bee, as he comes laden and rejoicing home, when the sun ia 
alone in tlie heavens, and the cattle are sleeping in the shade, and not a 
single breath of air is whi.spering thr.)ugh the bough.-*, and the deep dark 
Bhadows of the elm and the sycamore lie- motionless upon the earth. 

6* ' 



130 soniER. 

Climes unrelenting ! with whose rage compared, 
Yon blaze is feeble, and yon skies are cool. 

See, how at once the bright, effulgent Sun, 635 

Rising direct, swift chases from the sky 
The short-lived twilight ; and with ardent blaze. 
Looks gayly fierce through all the dazzling air. 
He mounts his throne ; but kind before him sends, 
Issuing from out the portals of the morn, 640 

The general breeze, to mitigate his fire. 
And breathe refreshment on a fainting world. 
Great are the scenes, with dreadful beauty crown'd 
And barbarous wealth, that see, each circling year. 
Returning suns and double seasons pass ; 645 

Rocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines. 
That on the high equator ridgy rise. 



641. The general breeze : That which blows constantly between the 
tropics from the east, or the collateral points, the northeast and the south- 
east, the cause of which is to be ascribed principally to the liigh compara- 
tive temperature of the torrid zone, combined with the rotation of the 
earth from west to east. The heated air at the surface ascending into 
the liigher regions of the atmosphere, its place is supplied by the colder 
air rushing from the poles ; which, also becoming rarefied, ascends in its 
turn, and is carried in the upper regions towards the poles to supply the 
stream of the under current : these under polar currents moving in prog- 
ress towards the equator from the zones where the earth's motion is 
slower, to others where it is more rapid, acquire an apparent relative mo- 
tion in a westerly direction. The currents from the northern and south- 
ern hemispheres meeting near the equator, their meridional motions arc 
there destroyed, and they therefore advance together with the remain- 
ing motion from the eastward around the globe. The regularity of the 
trade-winds is disturbed in some places by local causes, and chiefly by 
the superior rarefiiction of the air over land heated by the sun's rays, 
rhey extend further to the northward or southward according as the 
lun's declination is north or south ; and in some places they are period- 
ical, blowing half of the year in one direction, and the other half in the 
opposite one. — Buande's CrcLOPrmA. 

045. Rcturnhiij stnna, &.c. : In all climates between the tropics, the 
6un, as he passes and repasses in his annual motion, is twice a year verti- 
cal, and thus produces the effect here described. 



SrMM'.K. 131 

Whence many a bursting stream auriferous plays ; 

Majestic woods, of every vigorous green, 

Stage above stage, high waving o'er the hills ; 650 

Or, to the far horizon wide diffused, 

A boundless deep immensity of shade. 

Here, lofty trees, to ancient song unknown, 

The noble sons of potent heat and floods, 

Prone i-ushino: from the clouds, rear hiofh to heaven 655 

Their thorny stems, and broad around them throw 

Meridian gloom. Here, in eternal prime, 

Unnumber'd fruits, of keen delicious taste . 

And vital spirit, drink amid the cliffs. 

And burning sands, that bank the shrubby vales, 660 

Redoubled day ; yet in their rugged coats 

A friendly juice to cool its rage, contain. 

Bear me, Pomona ! to thy citron groves ; 
To where the lemon and the piercing lime. 
With the deep orange, glowing through the green, 665 
Their lighter glories blend> Lay me reclined 
Beneath the spreading tamarind, that shakes, 
F^nn'd by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit. 
Deep in tlie night the massy locust sheds, 
. Quench my hot limbs ; or lead me through the maze, 670 
Embowering endless, of the Indian fig ; 

648. Auriferous : Containing gold among its sands. 

661. Rugged coats : those of the cocoanut are probably referred to. 

663. Pomona : An imaginary goddess of fruits and flowers, worshipped 
in ancient Rome. 

667. Tamarind : The Indian date, that grows to a great height, and ia 
crowned with wide-spreading branches. Its fruit has a grateful acid taste 
and is preserved in sugar; the pods in which it grows being first re- 
moved. 

669. Xight: After this, supply u7i<'t/r. The sense will thus be made 
plain. 

671. Lidinn f.g : Ficus reJiginsa. The Banian-tree of India, celebrated 
for the great size and number of its trunks, its magnificent shade, and its 
adaptation to the comfort of animals and of mankind in tropical flimate^ 



132 suiiM;-:K. 

Or, thrown at gnyer ease, on some fair brow, 

Let rae behold, by breezy murmurs coord, 

Brond o'er my head t]:ie verdant cedar wave. 

And high palmettos lift their graceful shade. 6*^6 

Or, stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun. 

Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl. 

And from the palm to draw its freshening wine ! 

More bounteous for than all the frantic juice 

A single tree, in fact, constitutes a grove, furnishing most beautiful walks, 
vistas, and cool retreats in 'summer. The leaves are large, soft, and of a 
lively green. The fruit is a small fig, when ripe, of a bright scarlet color, 
affording sustenance to squirrels, monkeys, peacocks, and birds of various 
kinds which dwell among the branches. 

Milton supposes that it was this tree which furnished the leaves for the 
first garments of Adam and Eve : 

Such as at this day to Indians known 
In Malabar or Decan, spreads her arms 
Branching so broad and long, that in the ground 
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 
About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade 
High over-arched, and echoing walks between. 

The Hindoos almost pay it divine honors, considering its long duration, 
its outstretching arms, and its overshadowing beneficence as emblems of 
the Deity. The Brahmins spend much of their time in meditation under 
its delightful shade : they plant it near their temples or pagodas ; and in 
villages where these buildings have not been erected the Banian-tree is 
the scene of their idol worship. Under its far-reaching branches thousands 
of human beings, and of the inferior tribes that traversethe earth and the 
air, may find at one time ample acconimodation and subsistence. Consult 
Dick's Christian Philosopher, chap. ii. 

675. Palmettos : The palmetto is a species of the palm-tree, indigenous 
in the West Indies and in the southern part of the United States. 

671. The cocoa-tree is devoted to a great variety of useful purposes. 
Boats and frames for houses are made of the trunk. The larger leaves, 
from ten to fifteen feet long and three feet broad, are used in thatching 
the houses of the Hindoo natives, and when split lengthwise serve as ma- 
terials for mats and baskets. The nut yields not only delicious food and 
drink, but a valuable oil. The branches, Avhen cut, send forth a liquo- 
called toddy, from which an intoxicating beverage is obtained by distilla- 
tion. The fibres enveloping the shell of the nut are sometimes spun and 
woven into sail-cloth, or twisted into a cable stronger than any that can 
be made of hemp. The leaves furnish food to the elephant, and tlie ashea^ 



SUMMER. 133 

Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs 680 

Low bending, be the full poraegmnate scorn'd ; 

Nor, creeping through the woods, the gelid race 

Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells 

Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp. 

Witness, thou best Anana, thou the pride 685 

Of vegetable hfe, beyond whate'er 

The poets imaged in the golden age : 

Quick let me strip thee of thy tufty coat, 

Spread thy ambrosial stores and feast with Jove ! 

From these the prospect varies. Plains immense 690 
Lie stretch'd below, interminable meads. 
And vast savannahs ; where the wandering eye, 
Unfix'd, is in a verdant ocean lost. 
Another Flora there, of bolder hues, 



from the potash which they contain, serve the fishermen of Ceylon for 
*ioap. The shell is made into cups and various fancy articles. 

680. Bacchus : The god of the vine, of its fruits, and of the scenes to 
-which the "frantic juice" gives origin, was among tlie first of the gods 
that were generally worshipped in the Grecian and Roman territories. 
His worship virtually is now more prevalent than in ancient times, even 
in nominally Christian lands, 

6S1. The fruit of the pomejranate-troe is about the size of an orange; 
the pulp, which is acid, and of a reddish color, being inclosed in a hard 
rind. The latte'r is higlily astringent. This shrubby tree is a native of 
Italy, Spain, and Barbary. 

6S3-4. Moral reflections and observations hke this are perpetually oc- 
curring through the poem, and greatly enhance its value, and, to persons 
of fine moral taste, its interest also. 

685. The Anana is the pineapple. 

692. SavannaJis: Plains covered with grass and free from trees, afford- 
ing an unobstructed prospect. Meads generally denote grass land, low 
and wet. 

694, Flora: A name derived from the goddess of flowers worshippe.?- 
by the ancients, but now frequently employed to denote a class or collec 
tion of fioAvers belonging to some particular region. Thus we may speak 
of a European, African, or American Flora. It is here used as a general 
term for the totahty of flowers that adorn the savannahs and meads 
above mentioned- 



134: er:yiMKR. 

And richer sweets, beyond our garden's pride, 695 

"Plays o'er the fields, and showers, with sudden hand. 
Exuberant spring : for oft these valleys shift 
Their gieen-embroider'd robe to fiery brown, 
And swift to green again, as scorching suns. 
Or streaming dews and torrent rains, prevail. VOO 

Along these lonely regions, where, retired 
From little scenes of art, great Nature dwells 
In awful solitude, and naught is seen 
But the wild herds that own no maste; s stall, 
Prodigious rivers roll their fattening seas ; 105 

On whose luxuriant herbage, half conceal'd, 
Like a fall'n cedar, far diffused his train, 
Cased in green scales, the crocodile extends. 
The flood disparts : behold ! in plaited mail, 
Behemoth rears his head. Glanced from his side, 710 
The darted steel in idle shivers flies. 
He fearless walks the plain, or seeks the hills ; 
Where, as he crops his varied fare, the herds. 
In widening circle round, forget their food, 
And at the harmless stranger wondering gaze. 115 

Peaceful beneath primeval trees, that cast 

'ZIO. Behemoth: The hippopotamus, or river-horse ; a grand description 
of wliich is furnished in the book of Job, chap. xl. 15-24. Some parts of 
that description apply more closely to the elephant than to the river- 
horse ; other parts apply equally well to both. Hence the term behe- 
moth, taken intensively, may be assumed to be a poetical personification 
of the great Pachydermata, or even Herbivora, wherein the idea of hip- 
popotamus is predominant. Consult Kitto's Cyclopedia. The hippopot- 
amus lives during the day beneath the waters of its native river, ascend- 
ing occasionally to the surface for the purpose of breathing ; but at night 
makes its way to the land to obtain food. 

* The crocodile (708) is included among the animals denoted by Levia- 
than, in the sacred Scriptures. Among other characteristics the upper 
and under parts of the body, and the entire tail, are covered with square 
plates, while the sides of the body are covered with small round scales. 
Its home is the Nile. 

717. The river Niger in Africa is chiefly celebrated for the many UQ» 



socvrLR. • 135 

Their ample shade o'er Niger's yellow stream, 

And where the Gang-es rolls his sacred wave ; 

Or, mid the central depth of blackening woods. 

High raised in solemn theatre around, 720 

Leans the huge elephant ; wisest of brutes ! 

truly wise ! with gentle might endow'd. 

Though powerful, not destructive ! Here he sees 

Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth, 

And empires rise and fall ; regardless he 725 

Of what the never-restinof race of men 

* 
Project : thrice happy ! could he 'scape their guile. 

Who mine, from cruel avarice, his steps ; 

Or with his towery grandeur swell their state, 

The pride of kings ! or else, his strength pervert, '730 

Bucccssful and fatal attempts to explore and ascertain its outlet, "which 
was not discovered until 1830 by Richard and John Lander, who went 
from the coast to Boosa on the Niger, and followed the stream downward 
till it conveyed them through the channel of the river Nun into the bay 
of Benin — this channel being one of the numerous mouths of the Niger 
that form, on the Atlantic coast, a delta of 240 miles. It was at Boosa 
that Mungo Park and his associates encountered death. For centuries 
the origin of this river in Western Guinea and a part of its course only 
were known ; but it was reserved, at this late period^ for the enterprise 
of the Landers to settle the long-agitated question of its local termi- 
nation. 

'TIS. Sacred wave: The water of the Ganges is regarded by the Hin- 
doos with religious reverence, since tliey attribute to it an efficacy for 
their purification from sin. In size and other respects, it is one of the 
noblest rivers in the world, extending in all its windings, in Hindostan 
alone, 1300 miles, and thus far from its mouth is navigable. 

728. Who mine, <fec. : This is done by digging pits, which are covered 
slightly with branches, grass, and earth, and the wild elephant, being 
driven or allured in the direction of these, falls into them and is captured. 
For a full account see Rollin's History, vol. v. 147-8. Their use "amid 
the mortal fray," or in battles, by the ancients, is well known. In liis 
ftunous battle with Alexander, Porus is said to have employed eighty- 
five prodigious elej)hants, which, before the engagement, stood like so 
many towers, and the Indians exasperated them in order that their 
hideous cry might fill the Miicedoaiaus with terror. This may explain 
the phrase towery grandeur 



136 • SrMxMER. 

Ahd bid him rage amid the mort<il fray, 
Astonish'd at the madness of mankind. 

Wide o'er the winding umbrage of the floods. 
Like vivid blossoms glowing from afar, - 
Thick swarm the brighter birds. For Nature's hand, 13B 
That with a sportive vanity has deck'd 
The plumy nations, there her gayest hues 
Profusely pours. But if she bids them shine. 
Array 'd in all the beauteous beams of- day, 
Yet frugal still, she humbles them in song. 740 

Nor envy we the gaudy robes they lent 
Proud Montezuma's realm, whose legions cast 
A boundless radiance waving on the sun, 
While Philomel is ours ; while in our shades. 
Through the soft silence of the listening night, 745 

738-40. Profusehj pours, &c. : In all the regions of the torrid zone, the 
birds, though more beautiful in their plumage, are observed to be less 
melodious than in the temperate zone. 

742. Montezuma! s reahn : Mexico. That Montezuma was a jt)ro?^c? mon- 
arch will be seen from Robertson's account of his earliest interview with 
Cortes. He was in the first place preceded by a thousand persons of dis- 
tinction, adorned with plumes and clothed in mantles of fine cotton. 
These announced to Cortes that their monarch was approaching. Next 
appeared two hundred persons in a uniform dress, with large plumes of 
feathers, alike in fashion, marching two and two, in deep silence, bare- 
footed, with their eyes fixed on the ground. These were followed by a 
company of higher rank, in their most showy apparel, in the midst of 
whom was Montezuma, in a chair or litter richly ornamented with gold, 
and feathers of various colors. Four of his principal favorites carried liin^ 
on their shoulders, others supported a canopy of curious workmanship 
over his head. Before him marched three officers with rods of gold in 
their hands, which they lifted up on high at certain intervals, and at that 
signal all the people bowed their heads and hid their faces, as unworthy 
to look upon so great a monarch. When he drew near, Cortes dismounted, 
'advancing towards hiin with officious haste, and in a respectful posture. 
At the same time Montezuma alighted from his chair, and, leaning on the 
arms of two of his near relations, approached with a slow and stately 
pace, his attendants covering the streets with cotton cloths, that ho might 
not touch the ground. He scarcely deigned to consider the rost of ir»u« 
kind as of the same species with himself. 



SUMMKK. ]3| 

The sober-suited songstt-css trills her lay. 

But come, my Muse, the desert-barrier burst, 

A wild expanse of lifeless sand and sky ; 

And, swifter than the toiling cai-avan, 

Shoot o'er the vale of Sennar ; ardent climb 750 

To Nubian mountains, and the secret bound i 

Of jealous Abj^ssinia boldly pierce. 

Thou art no rufiian, who beneath the mask 

Of social commerce com'st to rob their wealth ; 

:N'o holy fury thou, blaspheming Heaven, ' ^55 

With consecrated steel to stab their peace, 

% \nd through the land yet red from civil wounds, 

To spread the purple tyranny of Home. 

Thou, like ^he harmless bee, m^jst freely rano-e 

From mead to mead, bright with exalted flowers ; 760 

From jasmin grove to grove, mayst wander gay 

Through palmy shades and aromatic woods, 

That grace the plains, invest the peopled hills. 

And up the more than Alpine m.ountains wave • 

} 

fro!!^] ^^'1 ^^^'^^;:«^'f ^/^".^•^'^^^-^ •• Philomel (the ni^^htingale) is so styled 
from he plain suit of plumage that she wears, there being nothing showy 
or bnlhant about it. ^ & j 

750. Sennaar is a city of Nubia and capitabof the kingdom of Senna-r " 
It has a population of 10,000, and carries on, by caravans, an extensive 
trade witJi Egypt, Nigritia, and Arabia. South of Nubia lies Ab^sshna 
whose inhabitants have adopted a sy.tem of religion, compounded of 
Judaism, Christianity, and superstition. In the tifteenth and sixteenth 
centunes strenuous efforts were made. to proselyte them to the Romish 
faith, but hese efforts were not attended witli much success untfl th« 
seventeenth century, when the Portuguese Jesuits renewed the mission^ 
to spread the purple tyranny of Rome. At length, however, the emperor' 
was so exasperated at the changes thus introduced, the exactions the> 
imposed, and the arrogance they displayed, tha^ he banished ail the 
popish missionaries, and their adherents, from his dominions; and even so 
ktely as a century ago, the edict prohibiting, on the above account, all 
Europeans to enter Abyssinia, was in force and rigorously executed. To 
this event, and others naturally growing out of it, the poet plainly alludes 
Ool-/ob) and then gives a most picturesque account of the physical 
boautics of an Abyssinian landscape. 



138 SUMMER. 

There on the brct'Z}' summit, spreading fair, 765 

For many a league ; or on stupendous rocks, 
That from the sun-redoubhng valley lift, 
Cool to the middle air, their lawny tops ; 
AVhere palaces and fanes and villas rise, 
And gardens smile around, and cultured fields, 770 

And fountains gush, and careless herds and flocks 
Securely stray ; a world within itself. 
Disdaining all assault ; there let me draw 
. Ethereal soul, there drink reviving gales. 
Profusely breathing from the spicy groves 775 

And vales of fragrance ; there at distance hear 
The roaring floods, and cataracts, that sweep 
From disembowell'd earth the vii-gin gold ; 
And o'er the varied landscape, restless, rove, 
Fervent with life of every fairer kind : 780 

A land of wonders ! which the sun still eyes 
With ray direct, as of the lovely realm 
Enamor'd, and delighting there to dwell. 

How changed the scene ! in blazing height of noon, 
The sun, oppress'd, is plunged in thickest gloom. 785 

Still horror reigns, a dreary twilight round. 
Of struororlinor niofht and day malicjnant mix'd. 
For to the hot equator crowding fast, * 

Where highly rarefied, the yielding air 
A-dmits their stream, incessant vapors roll, 790 

Amazing clouds on clouds continual heap'd ; 
Or whirl'd tempestuous by the gusty wind, 
Or silent borne along, heavy and slow. 
With the big stores of steaming oceans charged. 
Meantime, amid these upper seas, condensed 795 

767. Sun-redo7ihling valley : Valley in which, compared with the adja- 
cent eminences, the sun has double power, especially when in a vertijal 
position. 

778. Virgin gold : Pure gold. 



suMaiER. 139 

Around the cold aerial mountain's brow, 

And by conflicting winds together dash'd, 

The thunder holds his black, tremendous throne. 

From cloud to cloud the rendino- lio-htnincrs rafre : 

Till, in the furious elemental war 800 

Dissolved, the whole precipitated mass 

[Jnbroken floods and solid torrents pours. 

MAGNIFICENT RIVERS. 

The treasures these, hid from the bounded search 
Of ancient knowledge ; whence, with annual pomp. 
Rich king of floods ! o'erflows the swelling Nile. 805 

From his two springs, in Gojam's sunny realm, 
Pure welling out, he through the lucid lake 
Of fair Dambea rolls his infant stream. 
There, by the naiads nursed, he sports away 
His playful youth amid the fragrant isles, 810 

• That with unfading verdure smile around. 
Ambitious thence the manly river breaks ; 
And, gathering m:\ny a flood, and copious fed 
^Yllh all the mellow'd treasures of tlie sky, 

fto3-5. The author here refers to the previous paragraph as containing 
an explanation of the annual overflowings of the Nile — a phenomenon 
wliicfi the ancients failed to account for. The poet claims also to indicate 
the sources of the Nile in two springs well'mg out (issuing out) in Gojain, 
which probably denotes a province of Abyssinia. But he has been more 
exact and exphcit than history warrants. It has hitherto been ascer- 
tained, only, that the various branches of the Nile have an origin sojue- 
where in the high lands of Africa, north of the equator, in what are called 
tlie Mountains of the Moon. The Nile, yet a small stream, runs through 
the lake Dembea, situated in the interior of Abyssinia. The wliole leno^th 
of this splendid river is not far from 'JOOO miles. 

809, By the naiads nursed: A classical conception of great beauty. 

riie Nile in its infancy is represented as being nursed in the lake Dembea 

oy the fair goddesses that preside over fountains and rivers. The j)rtr 

gressive growth and ever-swelling majesty of the river are finely de- 

cribrd. 



140 su:.:Mr:K. 

Winds in progressive mnjesty along : 815 

Through splendid kingdoms now devolves his maze, 

Now wanders wild o'er solitary tracts 

Of life-deserted sand ; till, glad to quit 

The joyless desert, down the Nubian rocks, 

From thundering steep to steep, he pours his urn, 820 

And Egypt joys beneath the spreading wave. 

His brother Niger too, and all the floods 
In which the full-form 'd maids of Afric lave 
Their jetty limbs ; and all that from the tract 
Of woody mountains stretch'd through gorgeous Ind, 825 
Fall on Cormandel's coast, or Malabar ; 
From Menam's orient stream, that nightly shines 
With insect lamps, to where Aurora sheds 
On Indus' smihng banks the rosy shower : 
All, at this bounteous season, ope their urns, 830 

And pour untoiling harvest o'er the land. 

Nor less thy world, Columbus, drinks, refresh'd, 
The lavish moisture of the melting year. , 

Wide o'er his isles the branching Oronoque 

816. Devolves Ida maze: Rolls down his -winding course. 

825. Ind; for India. Menam is a large river of Siam, on whose bahka 
the vast muhitude of fire-flies make a brilliant appearance at night. 

832. Thy world: The continent of America; called his world because 
discoverec by him. 

834. Oronoque : This river takes its rise in tlie centre of the Republic 
of Colombia, and after a course of 1400 miles enters the Atlantic by an 
extended delta of mouths, opposite the Island of Trinidad. The poet 
refers to the valuable trees {life-sufficing) on the banks of this stream, to 
which the natives are driven for safety when the river is overflowed, and 
from which they derive supplies of various sorts. The reference, proba- 
bly, is to the (jocoanut-tree, which has been already described in note 
677, "Spring." 

A passage in St. Pierre's Studies of Nature aff'ords a good illustration of 
the text: — "The inundations of rivers, such as the Amazon, Oronoco, and 
many others, are periodical. They manure the lands they inundate ; and 
it is well known that the banks of these rivers swarmed with populous 
nations before Europeans settled there. The inhabitants were benefitod 



SIMMKK. 141 

Rolls a brown dfluu^o ; and tlie native drives 835 

To dwell aloft on life-sufficing trees, . 

At once his dome, his robe, his food, and aiins. 

Swell'd by a thousand streams, impetuous Imrl'd 

From all the roaring Andes, huge descends 

The mighty Orellana. Scarce the Muse 840 

Dares stretch her wing o'er this enormous mass 

Of rushing water. Scarce she dares attempt 

The sea-like Plata ; to whose dread expanse, 

Continuous depth, and wondrous length of course, 

Our floods are rills. With unabated force, 845 

In silent dignity they sweep along. 

And traverse realms unknown, and blooming wilds, 

And fruitful deserts, worlds of solitude ; 

Where the sun smiles and seasons teem in vain. 

Unseen and unenjoy'd. Forsaking these, 850 



from these inundations, by the abundance of the fisheries and the fertility 
of the lands. So far from considering them as convulsions of nature, they 
received them as blessings from Heaven ; just as the Egyptians prized 
the overflowings of the Nile. "Was it then a mortifying spectacle to see 
their deep forests intersected -with water, which they could traverse in 
their canoes, and pick the fruits at their ease ? Nay, certain tribes of the 
OronocQ (or Oronoque), determined by these accommodations, had acquirea 
the singular habit of dwelling on the tops of trees, and seeking ander 
their foliage a habitation, food, and a fortress. Most of them, however, 
inhabited only the banks of rivers, and preferred them to the surrounding 
deserts, though not exposed to inundations." 

840. The Orellana is the river Amazon, deriving the first of these 
names from its discoverer, Francesco Orellano, who, leaving Peru in 1540, 
was the first European that sailed down the river Amazon to the Atlantic. 
He gave this latter name to the river from the circumstance that he ob- 
served upon its banks companies of armed women. The original name of 
the riv^er was Maranon. Its length is 3300 miles : it has a breadth of 150 
miles at its mouth, and even at tlie distance of 1500 miles from* its mouth 
is 180 feet deep. 

843. Sea-like Plata: Being 150 miles broad at its mouth, and at Mon 
tevideo, 60 miles up the river, is so broiid that from the centre of the 
channel the land on either side cannot be discerned. It is navigabl* io 
large boats 1000 miles, which is about half of its entire length. 



142 sujoikr. 

O'er peopled plains they fair diffusive flow, 

And many a nation feed, and circle safe 

In their soft bosom, many a happ}?- isle, 

The seat of blameless Pan, yet undisturb'd 

By Christian crimes and Europe's cruel sons. 855 

Thus pouring on they proudly seek the deep, 

Whose vanquish'd tide, recoiling from the shock, 

Yields to the liquid weight of half the globe ; 

And Ocean trembles for his green domain. 

THE ADVANTAGES OF TROPICAL CLIMES OVERBALANCED BT , /^ilR 
PECULIAR DISADVANTAGES. 

But what avails this wondrous waste of wealth ? 8G0 
This gay profusion of luxurious bliss ? 
This pomp of Nature ? what their balmy meads, 
Their powerful herbs, and Ceres void of pain. 
By vagrant birds dispersed, and wafting winds? 
What their unplanted fruits? what the cool draughts, 8G5 
Th' ambrosial food, rich gums, and spicy heaUh, 
Their forests yield ? their toiling insects what, 

854. Pan: A Grecian deity, who was honored as the god of the natural 
Wfirld ; this name signifying tlie ivhnte : or his name may be derived from 
a word which signifies to tend flocks, and thus applies to him as the god 
of si;hepherJs and of men in a rude, uncultivated state. He is here put as 
the god or representative of the men of those regions while yet uncor- 
rupted by European vices. 

857-9. These lines receive illustration from the account which Robert- 
son gives of the Orinoco. It rolls towards the ocean such a vast body of 
water, and rushes into it with such impetuous force, that when it jneets 
the tide, which on that coast rises to an uncommon height, their collision 
occasions a swell and agitation of the waves no less surprising than formi- 
dable. In this conflict the irresistible torrent of the river so far prevails 
that^it freshens the ocean many leagues with its flood. 

863. Cerea void of pain: Crops that cost no severe labor — spontaneous 
products of the earth. Ceres, the goddess of agriculture and of t e pro- 
ducts of the earth, is here put for those products that we*'© attributed to 
her power and energy. 



S?IMMKK. 



148 



Their silky pride, and vegetable robes ? 

Ah ! what avail their fatal treasuies, hid 

Deep in the bowels of tlie pitying earth, 870 

G olconda's gems, and sad Potosi's mines ; 

868-9. Fatal treasures: The precious metals, by attracting the cupidity 
nnd lawless violence of Spanish adventurers were fatal to the happiness 
and life of the gentle children of the sun — the simple sun-burnt natives of 
t)>os« regions. Tlie word pitt^ing conveys the beautiful sentiment, that 
the earth, in pity to the natives, and for their security from foreign 
rapacity, had hid her precious minerals deep in her bowels, that they 
might not be discovered* 

But these rich mines of silver and gold were exceedingly detrimental 
also to the country that sent forth its greedy adventurers to exliaust 
them. Previous to their discovery Spain was an industrious and thriving 
country. Under the reigns of Ferdinand and Isabella, and Charles V., 
Spain was one of the most industrious countries in Europe. Her manufac- 
tures in wool, and flax, and silk, were so extensive as not only to furnish 
what was sufficient for her own consumption, but to afford a surplus for 
exp(jrtation. 'The new market now opened in America naturally added 
great vivacity and excitement to the spirit of industry. Nourished and 
invigorated by this, the manufactures, the population, and wealth of Spain 
might have gone on increasing in the same proportion with the growth of 
her colonies. Her marine was also in a very flourishing condition. But, 
as Ri^bertson further remarks, " the same thing happens to nations as to 
individuals. Wealth which flows in gradually and with moderate increase, 
feeds and nourishes that activity which is friendly to commerce, and calls 
it forth into vigorous and well-conducted exertions; but when opulence 
pours in suddenly, and with too full a stream, it overturns all sober plans 
of industry, and brings along with it a taste for what is wild and extrava- 
gant and daring in business or in action." Philip II. and Philip III., men 
of inferior talents, were tempted, under this impulse, to engage in ex- 
pensive wars, draining their country of men and treasure. The rage for 
emigration to the new countries carried off more of the industrious classes 
than could be spared. These depended on Spain for their supplies, but 
her flourishing manufactures having declined, the supply was sought from 
other countries, so that in a short time not more than the twentieth part 
of the commodities exported to America was of Spanish growth or fabric. 
"^Ihus were the riclies and strength of Spain rapidly diminished ; so that 
from the close of the sixteenth century she has not been able to supply 
the grttAviiig wants of her colonies, but other more industrious nations have 
enriched themselves at her expanse. 

871. Golcondds gems : A province of Hindoostan abounding in diamonds. 
Potosi, ir. Bolivia, Soutl" America, distingiished for the rich silver mines 



144 ^ SUilMEK. 

Where dwelt tlie gentlest children of the sun? 
• What all that Afric's golden rivers roll, 

Her odorous woods, and shining ivory stores ? 

Ill-fated race ! the softening arts of peace, 875 

Whate'er the humanizing Muses teach ; 

The godlike wisdom of the temper'd breast ; 

Progressive truth, the patient force of thought ; 

Investigation calm, whose silent powei-s 

Command the world ; the light that leads to heaven ; 880 

Kind equal rule, the government of laws, 

And all-protecting freedom, which alone 

Sustains the name and dignity of man : 

These are not theirs. The parent sun himself 

Seems o'er this world of slaves to tyrannize ; 885 

And, with oppressive ray, the roseate bloom 

Of beauty blasting, gives the gloomy hue. 

And feature gross ; or worse, to ruthless deeds, 

Mad jealousy, blind rage, and fell revenge. 

Their fervid spirit fires. Love dwells not there. 890 

The soft regards, the tenderness of life. 

The heart-shed tear, th' ineffable delight 

Of sweet humanity ; thes*e court the beam 

Of milder chmes ; in selfish fierce desire, 



found in a conical mountain near by ; but they are now considerably ex- 
hausted. 

876. Humanizing Muses : Female deities that fostered the fine arts and 
Bciences, such as poetry, music, painting, rhetoric, astronomy, <fec. " It 
appears probable," says Brande, " that the early Grecian poets, struck 
•with the beauty and sublimity of the scenery in this part of Greece 
(Helicon and the region around Parnassus), ascribed the humanizing influ- 
ence it was so well fitted to exercise over the mind to the agency of the 
nymphs and other tutelary deities of the place, to whom they gave the 
name of Muses." This name is- supposed to have been derived from an 
old Greek verb, meaning to inquire or invent : and the Muses, accordingly, 
are, philosophically, to be regarded only as personifications of the inven- 
tive powers of the mind -as displayed in tne various hberal arts and 
sciences. 



SUMMER. 145 

And the wild fury of voluptuous sense, 895 

There lost. The very brute creation there 
This rnge partakes, and burns with horrid fire, 
Lo ! the green serpent, from his dark abode, 
Which e'en Imagination fears to tread. 
At noon forth issuing, gathers up his train 900 

In orbs immense, then, darting out anew, 
Seeks the refreshing fount ; by which diffused, 
He throws his folds ; and while, with threatening tongue, 
And deathful jaws erect, th-e monster curls 
His flaming crest, all other thirst, appall'd, 905 

Or shivering flies, or check'd at distance stands, 
Nor dares approach. But still more direful he, 
The small close-lurking minister of fate, 

898. Green serpcmt : Allusion probably is made to the Coluberidce, 
which " are particularly distinguished by the power of dilating the open- 
ing of the jaws to an enormous extent, so as to permit of animals being 
swallowed which are much larger than the diameter of the serpent it- 
self. This is accomplisljed by the separation of the jaw-bones into vari- 
ous pieces, which are very movable on one another and on the skull. 
The most remarkable species of this family are the Boa Constrictors of 
the New World and the Pythones of the Old ; these, when full grown, 
attain the length of fi'om thirty to forty feet, and in thickness nearly 
equal a man's body. They do not fear to attack any animal ; and if 
they can once coil themselves roimd it, crush it by the enormous com- 
bined power of their muscles, in spite of all its means of resistance and 
defence. Their power is much increased by coiHng the tail round 
a tree, so as to give a point of support from' which the muscles may 
act more efficiently ; and it is in tliis manner that they commonly 
wait for their prey. When they have seized and entirely destroyed it 
by crushing, in which process all the principal bones are broken, they be 
gin to swallow it. The process of digestion takes some days or weeks, 
according to the size of the prey, and during that time the monster lies 
in a very inactive state. The hair, horns, and other least digestible parta 
are usually disgorged during the process." 

905. All other thirst, <fcc. : According to the reading of the text, tJiirst 
is personified, and is represented as suffering and doing that which the 
animals under its influence suffer and do. 

907. The Viper, probably, is here referred to, and especially the horn 
ed viper, or Cerastes, which is an extremely venomous species. 



14:6 SUArMKR. 

Whose hio-h-conrouted venom tliroui^h the veins 
A rapid hghtnin^- darts, arresting swift 910 

The vital current ; fonn'd to humble man, 
This child of vengeful nature ! There, sublimed 
To fearless lust of blood, the savage race 
Roam, licensed by the shading hour of guilt, 
And foul misdeed, when th® pure day has shut . 915 

. His sacred eye. The tiger darting fierce 

Impetuous on the prey his glance has doom'd ; 

The lively shining leopard, speckled o'er 

With many a spot, the beauty of the waste ; 

And, scorning all the taming arts of man, 920 

The keen hyena, fellest of the fell : 

These, rtishing from th' inhospitable woods 

Of Mauretania, or the tufted isles 



912. As a recent writer has observed, in fearful pre-eminence amongst 
those animals commonly considered repulsive and degraded is the ser- 
pent, whose liistory is unavoidably associated with the introduction of sin 
and sorrow into the world. Whether from this association, or from an in 
stinctive horror of its " venomous tooth," it is certain that the serpent is 
more generally dreaded and more loathed, even by those who do not 
fear it, than any otlier living thing ; and yet how beautiful is its saga- 
cious eye, how rich and splendid its coloring; how delicate the tracery of 
network thrown all over its glossy scales, how graceful and easy its 
meandering movements, as it winds itself in among the rustling grass ; 
how much like one of the fairest objects in nature, a clear blue river 
wandering through a distant valley ! 

923. Mauritania : Ancient Latin name for the African territory now 
occupied by the kingdoms of Fez and Morocco, in the neighborhood oi 
the Straits of Gibraltar — while the term 'Libya (924) characterizes gen- 
erally the northern part of Africa extending between Mauritania on the 
west and Egypt on the east, and to an indefinite limit southward. It 
embraces the modern kingdoms of Tunis and Tripoli. Sometimes Libya 
is used for the whole African continent. The tufted isles are those ver- 
dant spots, of great beauty and utility, that are occasionally met with 
in crossing the vast sandy deserts of Africa. They are watered by 
springs. The name Oasis is usually applied to such a spot. Thes* 
spots being sometimes found in clusters, the word tufted is here used to 
express that fact. 



SUMMER. 147 

That verdant rise amid the Libyan wild, 
Innumerous glare around their shaggy king, 925 

•Majestic stalking o'er the printed sand ; 
And, with imperious and repeated roars. 
Demand their fated food. The fearful flocks 
Crowd near the guardian swain. The nobler herds, 
Where round their lordly bull in rural ease 930 

They ruminating lie, with horror hear 
The coming rage. Th' awaken'd village starts ; 
And to her fluttering breast the mother strains 
Her thoughtless infant. From the pirate's den,. 
Or stern Morocco's tyrant fang escaped, 935 

The wretch half wishes for his bonds again : 
While, uproar all, the wilderness resounds. 
From Atlas eastward to the frighted Nile. 

Unhappy he ! who from the_firaLof joys, 
Soc]£ly, cut off, is left alone 940 

Amid this world of death. Day after day. 
Sad on the jutting eminence he sits. 
And views the main that ever toils below ; 
Still fondly forming in the fiirthest verge. 
Where the round ether mixes with the wave, 945 

Ships, dim-discover'd, dropping from the clouds : 
At eveninof, to the settinof sun he turns 
A mournful eye, and down his dying heart 
Sinks helpless ; while the wonted roar is up, 
And hiss continual through the tedious night. 950 

Yet here, e'en here, into these black abodes 
Of monsters, unappall'd, from stooping Rome, 
And guilty Coesar, Liberty retired, 

925. Sliaggij king : Tlie lion. 

938. Atlas: A raige of mountains in the northwestern part of Afri- 
ca, extending to tlie Great Saliara desert southward. Its liigher sumniita 
are covered witli perpetual snow, being about 12,000 feet high above the 
level of the ocean. 



14S SUAIMKK. 

Her Cato followino: tbrouorh Numidiaii wilds : 
Disdainful of Campania's gentle plains, 955 

And all tlie green delights Ausonia pours ; • 

When for them she must bend the servile knee, 
And fawning take the splendid robber's boon. 

THE CARAVAN OF MECCA. 

Nor stop the terrors of these regions here. 
Commission'd demons oft, angels of wrath, 960 

Let loose the rao-ino- elements. Breathed hot 
From all the boundless furnace of the sky, 
And the wide glittering waste of burning sand, 
A suffocating wind the pilgrim smites 

"With instant death. 'Patient of thirst and toil, 965 

Son of the desert ! even the camel feels. 
Shot through his wither'd heart, the fiery blast. 
Or from the black-red ethei-, bursting broad. 
Sallies the sudden whirlwind. Straight the sands, 
Commoved around, in gathering eddies play : 970 

Nearer and nearer still they darkening come ; 
Till, with the creneral, all-involvin(T storm 
Swept up, the whole continuous wilds arise ; 



954. Cato : M:\rcus Cato, the great-grandson of M. Fortius Cato, the 
Censor. When Rome was stooping to the yoke of designing men ; 
when Pompey, Ciesar, and Crassus formed a triumvirate for purposes 
adverse to popuhir liberty, he opposed them. After the triumph of 
Julius Cffisar over his rival, Pompe3% the friends of the Roman Republic 
rallied their forces in Africa under the guidance of Cato and Scipio. and 
enjoyed t^e aid of the king of Numidia. But these forces were defeat- 
ed, and Cato, rather than full into the hands of Caesar, put an end to his 
own life with a dagger, at Utica, from which occurrence he is known by 
the surname of Uticensl'^. This defeat reduced to an entire wreck the 
republican party, and elevated "guilty" Csesar to imperial power, in 
fact, though not in name. 

955-6. Campania : A fertile and much celebrated district of Southern 
Italy. Ausonia designate*^ the entire southern part of Italy. 



SUMMi:i«. 



149 



And by their noonday fount dejected thrown. 
Or sunk at night in sad disastrous-.sleep, 975 

. Beneath descending hills, the caravan 
Is buried deep. In Cairo's crowded streets, 
Th' impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain, 
And Mecca saddens at the long delay. 

DISASTERS IN TROPICAL SEAS. 

But chief at sea, whose every flexile wave 980 

Obeys the blast, th' aerial tumult swells. 
In the dread ocean, undulating wide, 
Beneath the radiant linejjiat girts the globe, 
The circling Typhon, whirl'd from point to point. 
Exhausting all the rage of all the sky, 985 

And dire Ecnephia reign. Amid the heavens, 
Falsely serene, deep in a cloudy speck 
Compress'd, the mighty tempest brooding dwells. 
Of no regard, save to the skilful eye, 

Fiery and foul, the small prognostic hangs 990 

Aloft, or on the promontory's brow 
Musters its foice. A faint, deceitful calm, 
A fluttering gale, the demon sends before. 
To tempt the spreading sail. Then down at once. 
Precipitant descends a mingled mass 995 

Of roarinof winds, and flame, and rusliina^ floods. 
In wild amazement" fix'd, the sailor stands. 
Art is too slow : by rapid fate oppress'd. 
His broad-w^ing'd vessel drinks the whelming tide, 
Hid in the bosom of the black abyss. 1000 



984-6. Typhon and Ecripphia : Names of particular storms or hurri- 
canes known only between the tropics. 

987. Cloudy speck: Called by sailors the Ox-eye, being in appearance, 
at first, no larger. 



150 SUMMER, 

With such mad seas the daring Gama fought, 
For many a dfiy, anrd many a dreadful night, 
Incessant, laboring round the stormy Cape ; 
By bold ambition led, and bolder thirst 
Of gold. For then, from ancient gloom, emerged 1005 
The rising world of trade. The Genius, then, 
Of navigation, that in hopeless sloth. 
Had slumber'd on the vast Atlantic deep, 
' For idle aores, starting^, heard at last 

The Lusitanian prince ; who, heaven-inspired, 1010 

To love of useful glory roused mankind, 

And in unbounded commerce mix'd the world. 

Increasing still the terrors of these storms. 
His jaws horrific arm'd with threefold fate. 
Here dwells the direful shark. Lured by the scent 1015 
Of steaming crowds, of rank disease, and death. 



1001. Gama: Vasco De Gama, the first who sailed round Africa by 
the Cape of Good Hope ; and pursued his voyage along- the eastern 
coast of Africa to Malabar, in 1498. 

1010. The Lusitanian prince : The Portuguepe prince {Lusitania be- 
ing the Latin name of Portugal) here spoken of was Don Henry, the 
fourth son of Jolin the First, king of Portugal — a man of an accom- 
plished mind, enlarged views, daring enterprise, and lofty patriotism, 
by whom the Portuguese were excited to great improvements and dis- 
coveries in navigation. He had tlie address also to enlist in favor of his 
schemes a Papal decree, issued at his entreaty by Pope Eugene IV,, by 
which all the countries that should be discovered south of Cape Non in 
Africa should be under the exclusive jurisdiction of Portugal, the prince 
having promised to establish in them the authority of the " Holy See." 
The spirit of discovery, being thus associated with a zeal for religion, 
was greatly strengthened. It received a check, however, for a time, by 
the death of this enterprising prince in 1463. In that dark age, no 
doubt was entertained of the power of the Roman Ptmtiff to assign to 
what government he chose, the dominion of the yet undiscovered por- 
tions of the earth. 

1016. Steaming crowds: Some of the horrors of the slave-trade are 
here powerfully drawn ; — those that occur in the slave-ship from crowd- 
ing hundreds in the hold — depriving them of pure air and exercise, and 
opportunity for cleanliness — and engendering fatal disease, so that a 



SUMMER. 151 

Beliold ! he rushing cuts the briny flood. 

Swift as the gale can bear the ship filong, 

And, from the partners of that cruel trade 

Which spoils unhnppy Guinea of her sons, 1020 

Demands his share of prey ; demands themselves. 

The stormy fates descend ; one death involves 

Tyrants and slaves ; when straight, their mangled Hncbs 

Crashing at once, he dyes the purple seas 

With gore, and riots in the vengeful meal, 1025 

PESTILENCE AT CARTHAGENA THE PLAGUE. 

When o'er this world, by equinoctial rains 
Flooded immense, looks out the joyless sun. 
And draws the copious steam ; from swampy fens. 
Where putrefaction into life ferments, 

And breathes destructive myriads ; or from woods, 1030 
Impenetrable shades, recesses foul, 
In vapors rank and blue corruption wrapp'd. 
Whose gloomy horrors yet no desperate foot 
Has ever dared to pierce ; then wasteful, forth 
-Walks the dire Power of pestilent disease. 1035 

A thousand hideous fiends her course attend. 
Sick Nature blasting, and to heartless woe. 
And feeble desolation, castinof down 
The towering hopes and all the pride of man : 
Such as, of late, at Carthagena quench'd 1040 

The British fire. You, gallant Vernon, saw 
The miserable scene; you, pitying, saw 



Tery large proportion of the slaves put oa board is lost during the 
passage. 

1042. Carthagena : A city of Colombia, South America. It stands 
upon an island, which is joined to the main-land by two bridges. In 
1826 its population was 26,000. The pestilence occurred in 1740, wlien 
Admiriil V^ernon was endeavoring to take the town, and was one of the 



162 SuM.MKJJ. 

To infant weakness sunk the Mwrrioi-'s arn: ; 
Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form. 
The lip pale-quivering, and the beamless eye, - 1043 

No more with ardor bright. You heard the groans 
Of agonizing ships from shore to shore ; 
Heard, nightly plunged amid the sullen waves. 
The frequent corse ; while on each other fix'd. 
In sad presage, the blank assistants seem'd, 1050 

Silent, to ask, whom Fate would next demand. 
What ne(Ki I mention those inclement skies. 
Where, frequent o'er the sickening city. Plague, 
The fiercest child of .Nemesis divine. 

Descends? From Ethiopia's poison'd woods, 1055 

From stifled Cairo's filth, and fetid fields 
With locust armies putrefying heap'd. 
This great destioyer sprung. Her awful rage 
The brutes escape : man is her destined prey. 
Intemperate man ! and, o'er his guilty domes, 1060 

events that prevented him from completing his design. See Rissell's 
Modern Europe, vol. ii. 414—17. 

1046-9. You heard, (fee: iN'ot only the eye, hut the ear, is called as a 
witness, and a terrible one it proves. — C. This passage in the poem has 
been thus judiciously characterized by Dr. Blair : — All the circumstances 
are properly chosen, for setting this dismal scene in a strong light before 
our eyes. But what is most striking in the picture, is the last image. 
We are conducted through all the scenes of distress till we come to the 
mortality prevailing in the fleet, which a vulgar poet would have de- 
scribed by exaggerated expressions concerning the multiplied trophies 
and victories of death. But how much more is the imagination impress- 
ed by this single circumstance of dead bodies thrown overboard every 
night ; of the constant sound of their falling into the waters, and of the 
Admiral listening to this melancholy sound so often striking the ear 
This passage shows -the power of a single well-chosen circumstance to 
heighten a description. 

1054. Nemesis divine : Allusion is here made to a Grecian goddess, the 
personification of the retributive justice of the gods. The Plague is here 
poetically represented as her child, because it is often erap'cyed as an in 
Htrument of divine justice and retribution. 

1056-8. Dr. Mead assigns these as causes of the plague 



She dra\^^ a close incumbent cloud of death ; 

Uninterrupted by the living winds, 

Forbid to blow a Avholesome breeze ; and stain'd 

With many a mixture by the sun, suffused. 

Of angry aspect. Princely wisdom, then, lOG.' 

Dejects his watchful eye ; and from the hand 

Of feeble justice, ineffectual, drop 

The sword and balance. Mute the voice of joy, 

And hush'd the clamor of the busy world. 

Empty the streets, with uncouth verdure clad; lOYO 

Into the worst of deserts sudden turn'd 

The cheerful haunt of men ; unless escaped 

From the doom'd house, where matchless horror reigns, 

Shut up by barbarous fear, the smitten wretch. 

With phrensy wild, breaks loose ; and, loud to Heaven 1075 

Screaming, the dreadful policy arraigns. 

Inhuman, and unwise. The sullen door, 

Yet uninfected, on its cautious hinge 

Fearing to turn, abhors society : 

Dependents, friends, relations. Love himself, 1080 

Savaged by woe, forget the tender tie. 

The sweet engagement of the feeling heart. 

But vain their selfish care : the circling sky. 

The wide enlivening air is full of fate ; 

And, struck by turns, in solitary pangs 1085 

They fall, unbless'd, untended, and unmourn'd. 

Thus o'er the prostrate city black Despair 

Extends her raven wing ; while, to complete 

1068. The sword and balance: The instruments, or emblems, of J us- 
wice : the balance to determine the amount of wrong to be punished, and 
Uie sword to inflict the appropriate punishment. 

1084. Fate : Death as an unavoidable event. 

1088. Raven tving : The raven has always been regarded by the supersti 
tious as a bird of ill omen ; and much (says Mrs. Ellis) as we may be disposed 
to despise such prognostications as the flight or the cry of different birds, 
there ia something in the habits, but especklly iu the voice of the raven, 

•7* 



154 SUMMER. 

The scene of desolation, stretcli'd around, 

The grim guards stand, denying all retreat, 1090 

And give the flying wretch a better death. 

, Much yet remains unsung : the rage intense 

Of brazen vaulted skies, of iron fields, 

Where drought and famine starve the blasted year ; 

Fired by the torch of noon to tenfold rage, 1095 

Th' infuriate hill that shoots the pillar'd flame ; 

And, roused within the subterranean world, 

Th' expanding earthquake, that resistless shakes 

Aspiring cities from their solid base. 

And buries mountains in the flaming gulf. 1100 

But 'tis enough. Return, my vagrant Muse : 

A nearer scene of horror calls thee home. 



A TREMENDOUS STORM IN BRITAIN. 

Behold, slow settling o'er the lurid grove, 
Unusual darkness broods ; and growing gains 
The full possession of the sky, surcharged 1105 

With wrathful vapor, from the secret beds, 
Where sleep the mineral generations, drawn. 
Thence nitre, sulphur, and the fiery spume 



whicli gives it a strange and almost fearful character. It seems to hold 
no communion with the joyous spirits, to have no association with the 
happy scenes of earth, but leads a lengthened and unsocial hfe amongst 
the gloomy shades of the venerable forest, in the deep recesses of the 
pathless mountain, or on the rocky summit of the beetling crag that over- 
looks the ocean's blue abyss ; and when it goes forth, with its sable pin- 
ions spread like the tuings of a dark angel upon the wind, its hoarse and 
hollow croak echoes from rock to rock, as if telling, in those dreary and 
appalling tones, of the fleshy feast to which it is hastening, of the death- 
pangs of the mountain deer, of the cry of the perishing kid, and of the 
bones of tlie shipw.recked seaman whitening in the surge. 

1102-68. The coming of the summer thunder-storiu is painted by a 
tuasterly hand — terrible at once^ and ^oft. — C. 



SUMMKK. ].55 

Of fat bitumen, steaming on the diij. 

With various-tinctured trains of latent flame, 1110 

Pollute the sky, and in yon baleful cloud, 

A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate 

Ferment ; till, by the touch ethereal roused. 

The dash of clouds, or irritating war 

Of fiofhtino: winds, while all is calm below, 1115 

They furious spring. A boding silence reigns, 

Dread through the dun expanse ; save the dull sound 

That from the mountain, previous to the storm. 

Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood, 

And shakes the forest-leaf without a breath. 1120 

Prone to the lowest vale the aerial tribes 

Descend : the tempest-loving raven scarce 

Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze 

The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens 

Cast a deploring eye ; by man forsook, 1125 

Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast. 

Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave. 

'Tis listeninof fear, and dumb amazement all : 
When to the startled eye the sudden glance 
Appears fam south, eruptive through the cloud ; 1130 

And, following slower, in explosion vast. 
The thunder raises his tremendous voice. 
At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven, . 
The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes. 
And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 1135 

The %htnino-s flash a laro^er curve, and more 
The noise astounds : till overhead a sheet 
Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts 
And opens wider ; shuts and opens still 
Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze. 1140 

Follows the loosen'd aggravated roar, 

1 ^3. Fouch ethereal : Application of lightning or electricity* 



156 SUMMER. 

Enlarging, deepening, mingling ; peal on peal 
Crush'd horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. 

DoAvn comes a deluge of sonorous hail, 
Or prone-descending rain. Wide rent, the clouds 1145 
Pour a whole flood ; and yet, its flnme unquench'd, 
Th' unconquerable lightning struggles through, 
RajTffed and fierce, or in red whirlino^ balls. 
And fires the mountains with redoubled rage. 
Black from the stroke, above, the smouldering pine 1150 
Stands a sad shatter'd trunk ; and, stretch'd below, 
A lifeless group, the blasted cattle he : 
Here the soft flocks, with that same harmless look 
They wore alive, and ruminating still 

In fancy's eye ; and there the frowning bull, 1155 

And ox half-raised. Struck on the castled cliff. 
The venerable tower and spiry fane 
Resign their aged pride. The gl®omy woods 
Start at the flash, and from their deep recess. 
Wide flaming out, their trembling inmates shake. 1 1 60 

Amid Carnarvon's mountains rages loud 
The repereussive roar : with mighty crush, 

1150-56. Black from the stroke, (fee. : Dugald Stewart selects this pas- 
.sage as an example of the picturesque in writing, by which he means that 
graphical power by wliich jx>etry and eloquence produce effects on th«j 
mind a»alogous to those of a picture. He does not limit that epithet to 
objects of sight, but extends it to all those details, of whatever kind, by 
a happy selection of which the imagination may be forcibly impressed. 
The epithet picturesque is also applied V>y Dr. Warton to a passage in 
" Winter" (732-38), where every circumstance mentioned recalls some 
Impression upon the ear alone. — Steavart's Works, vol. iv. 224-5. 

1161. Caritarvon, or Caernarvonshire, is a northern county of Wales, 
very rugged. Its mountains are called in general the Cambrian Alps— 
Snowdeu's peak occupies a lofty central position among them, being 3571 
feet above the level of the sea. jPerunaenmaur is an inferior mountain 
elevation in the same county. The Cheviot heights are a range of low 
mountains in the north of England, and passing beyond the border into 
Scotland. They are chiefly famous as the scene of bloody warfare be^ 
4-wecii the English and the Scotch before the union of the two kuigdoraa 



SUMMK.R. 



157 



Into tlie flashing deep, from the rude rocks 

Of Penmanraaur beap'd liideous to the sky. 

Tumble the smitten cliffs; and Snowden's peak, 11 Go 

Dissolving, instant yields his wintry load. 

Far seen, the heights of heathy Cheviot blaze. 

And Thule bellows through her utmost isles. 

SAD TALE OF CELADON AND AMELIA. 

Guilt hears appall'd, with deeply troubled thought ; 
And yet not always on the guilty head llYO 

Descends the fated flash. Young Celadon 
And his Amelia were a matcliless pair ; 
With equal virtue form'd, and equal grace. 
The same, distinguishM by their sex alone : 
Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn, llYo 

And his the radiance of the risen day. 

They loved : but such the guileless passion was. 
As in the dawn of time inform'd the heart 
Of innocence, and undissembling truth : 
'Twas friendship heightened by the mutual wish. 1180 

Th' enchanting hope and sympathetic glow, 
Beam'd from the mutual eye. Devoting all 
To love, each was to each a dearer self ; 
Supremely happy in th' awaken'd power 
Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades, 1185 

Still in harmonious intercourse they lived 

The ancient ballad of Chevy Chace celebrates the fierce encounter be- 
tween tlie Earls Percy and Douglas. 

1168. ThuU : Thomson speaks of her utmost isles, as they at one time 
formed the extreme northern limit of geou:raphical knowledge, and hence 
called Ullirna Thule. There is a di.-«pute about the precise location desig- 
nated by this name among the ancients. The Thule mentioned by Taci- 
tus corresponds with Mamlaiid, the largest of the forty Shetland islands 
off the nortliorn coast of Scotland. To this Thomson seems to refer. 

1178. Informed: Animftted. 



^58 SUMMT.R. 

The rural day, and talk'd the flowing heart, 
Or siijh'd and look'd unutterable thinn^s. 

So pass'd their life, a clear, united stream, 
By care unruffled ; till, in evil hour, il9Q 

The tempest caught them on the tender walk, 
Heedless how far and where its mazes stray'd ; 
While, with each other bless'd, creative love 
Still bade eternal Eden smile around. 

Presaorino: instant fate, her bosom heaved 1195 

Unwonted sighs, and, stealing oft a look 
Of the big gloom, on Celadon her eye 
Fell tearful, wetting her disorder'd cheek. 
In vain, assuring love and confidence 

In Heaven repress'd her fear ; it grew, and shook 1200 
Her frame near dissolution. He perceived 
Th' 'Unequal conflict ; and as angels look 
On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed. 
With love illumined high. ** Fear not," he said, 
*' Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offence, 1205 

And inward storm ! He, who yon skies involves 
In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee 
With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft 
That wastes at midnight, or th' undreaded hour 
Of noon, flies harmless ; and that very voice, 1210 

Which thunders terror through the guilty heart. 
With tongues of seraphs, whispers peace to thine. 
'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus 
To clasp perfection !" From his void embrace, 
(Mysterious Heaven !) that moment, to the ground, 1215 
A blacken'd corse, was struck the beauteous maid. 
But who can paint the lover, as he stood. 
Pierced by severe amazement, hating life. 



1193. Creative love : Their mutual love transformed the scene around 
thera into another Eden, or caused them to regard it as sucli. 



stj:m^ier. 159 

Speechless, and fix'd in all the death of woe ! 

So, (faint resemblance !) on the marble tomb, 1220 

The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands. 

Forever silent and forever sad. 

As from the face of heaven, the shatter'd clouds 
Tumultuous rove, th' interminable sky 
Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands ' 1225 

A purer azure. Through the lightened air, 
A higher lustre and a clearer calm. 
Diffusive, tremble ; while, as if in sio-n 
Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy. 
Set off abundant by the yellow ray, 1230 

Invests the fields ; and nature smiles, revived. 

'Tis beauty all, and grateful song around, 
Join'd to the low of kine, and numerous bleat 
Of flocks, thick nibbling through the clover'd vale. 
And shall the hymn be marr'd by thankless man, 1235 
Most favor'd ! who with voice articulate 
Should lead the chorus of this lower world ? 
Shall he, so soon forgetful of the Hand 
That hush'd the thunder, and serenes the sky, 
Extinguish'd feel that spark the tempest waked, 1240 

That sense of powers exceeding far his own. 
Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears ? 

Cheer'd by the milder beam, the sprightly youth 
Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth 
A sandy bottom shows. A while he stands 1245 

Gazing th' inverted landscape, half afraid 
To meditate the blue profound below ; 
Then plunges headlong down the circling flood. 
His ebon tresses and his rosy cheek 

1235-42. Hazlitt lias well remarked of Thomson, that he always gives 
a 7noral senae to nature. His reflections are often, as here, of a highly 
practical and useful character. 

1246. Gazing: Gazing at, (fee 



160 SUMMER. 

Instant emerge ; and, through th obedient wave, 1250 

At each short breathing by his hp repell'd, 

With arms and legs according well, he makes, 

As humor leads, an easy- winding path ; 

While, from his polish'd sides, a dewy light 

EflFuses on the pleased spectators round. 1255 

This is* the purest exercise of health. 
The kind refresher of the Summer heats ; 
Nor when cold Winter keens the brightening flood. 
Would I weak shivering linger on the brink. 
Thus life redoubles, and is oft preserved, 1260 

By the bold swimmer, ir^ the swift elapse 
Of accident disastrous. Hence the limbs 
Knit into force ; and the same Roman arm. 
That rose victorious o'er the conquer'd earth, 
First learn'd, while tender, to subdue the wave. 1265 

E'en from the body's purity, the mind 
Receives a secret sympathetic aid. 

DAMOX AND MUSIDORA. 

Close in the covert of a hazel copse. 
Where winding into pleasing solitudes 
Runs out the rambling dale, young Damon sat, 1270 

Pensive, and pierced with love's delightful pangs. 
There, to the stream that down the distant rocks 
Hoarse murmuring fell, and plaintive breeze that play'd. 
Among the bending willows, falsely he 
Of Musidora's cruelty complain'd. 1275 

She felt his flame ; but deep within her breast » 
In bashful coyness, or in maiden pride. 
The soft return conceal'd ; save when it stole 



1263. Roman arm : Probably that of Juliu3 Caesar, whose swimming 
across tha Tiber Shakspeare describe*. 



lUr.IMKR. 



161 



In sidelong glances fi-om her downcast cje, 

Or from her swelling soul in stifled sighs. 1280 

Touch'd by the scene, no stranger to his vows, 

lie framed a melting lay, to try her heart ; 

And, if an infant passion struggled there. 

To call that passion forth. Thrice happy swain ! 

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate 1285 

Of mighty monarchs, then decided thine. 

For lo ! conducted by the laughing Loves, 

This cool retreat his Musidora sought. 

Warm in her cheek the sultry season glow'd ; 

And, robed in loose array, she came to bathe 1290 

Her fervent limbs in the refreshing stream. 

What shall he do ? In sweet confusion lost, 

And dubious flutterings, he a while reraain'd. 

A pure ingenuous elegance of soul, 

A delicate refinement, known to few, 1295 

Perplex'd his breast, and urged him to retire ; 

But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue, say. 

Say, ye severest, what would you have done ? 

Meantime, this fairer nymph than ever bless'd 

Arcadian stream, with timid eye around 1300 



128S, <fec. 3fiisidora, &c. : Some remarks of Chambers may here interest 
the reader : — Though born a poet, Thomson seems to have advanced but 
slowly, and by reiterated efforts, to refinement of taste. The natural fer 
vor of the man overpowered the rules of the scliolar. The first edition 
of the " Seasons" differs materially from the second, and the second still 
more from tlie third. Every alteration was an improvement in delicacy 
of thought and language, of which we may mention one instance. In the 
Bcene between Damon and ^lusidora — " the solemnly-ridiculous bathing," 
as Campbell had justly tewned it — the poet had originally introduced 
three damsels. Some corrections in the language also were made, by 
which greater propriety has been secured. 

1300. Arcadian stream: Arcadia, in Peloponnesus, was the Alpine 
region of Greece, and the so.urce of many rivers and lesser streams. It 
was wild, romantic, and in some parts fertile — just the region for fair 
Nymphs and other, similar deities of the ima"ginative Greeks. 



1M2 su:NrMT:ii. 

Thi- banks surv^j-ing, stripp'd her beauteous limbs. 

To taste the lucid coolness of the flood. 

All then ! not Paris on the piny top 

Of Ida panted stronger, when aside 

The rival goddesses the veil divine 1305 

Cast unconfined, and gave him all their charms, 

Than, Damon, thou ; as from the snowy leg, 

And slender foot, th' inverted silk she drew ; 

As the soft touch dissolved the virgin zone ; 

And, through the parting robe, th' alternate breast, 1310 

With youth wild throbbing, on the lawless gaze 

In full luxuriance rose. But, desperate youth, 

How durst thou risk the soul-distracting view ; 

As from her naked limbs of glowing white, 

Harmonious swell'd by Nature's finest hand, 1315 

In folds loose floating fell the fainter lawn ; 

And fair exposed she stood, shrunk from herself. 

With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze 

Alarm'd, and starting like the fearful fawn ? 

Then to the flood she rush'd ; the parted flood 1320 

Its lovely guest with closing waves received ; 

And every beauty softening, every grace 

Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed : 

As shines the lily through the crystal mild ; 

Or as the rose amid the morning dew, 1325 

Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly glows. 

1803, Paris, son of Priam king of ancient Troy. The classical fable, 
so far as alluded to, is briefly this, as given by Anthon : — Juno, Minerva, 
and Venus, each laying claim to be more beautiful than the rest, and Jovo 
being unwilling to deciue, the god commanded Mercury to lead the three 
deities to Mount Ida (near Troy), and to intrust the decision of the affair 
to the shepherd Alexander (another name for Paris), whose judgment was 
to be definitive. The goddesses appeared before him, and urged their 
respective claims, and each, to influence his decision, made him an allur- 
ing offer of future advantage. 

132G. Auroras hand: Another beautiful fiction of Grecian poets, rep- 



5T-:.i^ri-:R. 



1G3 



Whili^ thus she wanton'd, now beneath the wave 
But ill conceal'd ; and now with streaming locks, 
That half embraced her in a humid veil, 
Rising again, the latent Damon drew 1330 

Such maddening draughts of beauty to the soul, 
. As for a while o'erwhelm'd his raptured thought 
With luxury too daring. Check'd, at last, 
By love's respectful modesty, he deem'd. 
The theft profane, if aught profane to love 1335 

Can e'er be deem'd ; and, strug'gling from the shade, 
With headlong hurry fled : but first these lines, 
Traced by his ready pencil, on the bank 
With trembling hand he threw : — " Bathe on, my fair. 
Yet unbeheld save by the sacred eye 1340 

Of faithful love : I go to guard thy haunt. 
To keep fi-om thy recess each vagrant foot. 
And each licentious eye." With wild surprise. 
As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, 
A stupid moment motionless she stood ; 1345 

So stands the statue that enchants the world : 



reppntin:^ the goddess of the morning dawn. " Homer describes hei ns 
wearing a flowing veil, which she throws back to denote the dispersion 
of night, and as opening with her rosy fingers tlie gates of day. Others 
represent her as a Nymph croAvned with flowers, with a star above her 
head, standing in a chariot drawn by winged liorses, while in one hand 
elie holds a torch, and with the other scatters roses, as illustrative of the 
flowers springing from the dew, which the poets describe as diiFused from 
the eyes of the goddess in liquid pearls." — Antiion. 

1346. The statue, tc: That of Venus de Medicis at Florence. The 
Royal Gallery at Florence (says Dr. Wilbur Fisk) is a collection of stat- 
uary, ancient and moden;, made by the successive sovereigns of Tuscany, 
an 1 especially by the Medici family. The princes of this family, who ap- 
pear to owe their first elevation to wealth accumulated in the commerce 
of the Levant, applied a portion of their vast means to the encourage-" 
ment of the arts and of hterature, and to the collection of the most rare 
specimens of the ancient artists that had survived the wreck of the north- 
ern barbarians. Here among other ancient statues is the famous Venus 
of Medici, that chef dcetivrc of art, the beau ideal of beauty, the wondef 



164 suMr,:i:ii. 

So bending tries to veil the matchless boast, 
The mingled beauties of exulling Greece. 
RecoTering, swift she flew to find those robes 
Which blissful Eden knew not; and, array'd 1350 

In careless haste, th' alarming paper snatch'd. 
But, when her Damon's well-known hand she saw. 
Her terrors vanish'd, and a softer train 
Of mix'd emcitioHS, hard to be described, 
. " Her sudden bosom seized : shame void of guilt, 1355 

The charming blush of innocence, esteem. 
And admiration of her lover's flame, 
By modesty exalted. E'en a sense 
Of self-approving beauty stole across 

Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm 1360 

Hush'd by degrees the tumult of her soul ; 
And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream 
Incumbent hung, she with a sylvan pen 
Of rural lovers, this confession carved. 
Which soon her Damon kiss'd v/ith weeping joy : 1365 

" Dear youth ! sole judge of what these verses mean. 
By fortune too much favor'd, but by love, 
Alas ! not favor'd less, be still as now 
Discreet ; the time may come you need not fly." 

of the world. This statue was found in Adrian's villa at Rome, and is 
very generally attributed to Praxiteles, the Greek artist, and, if coirect- 
ly, it has been in being between twenty-one and twenty-two hundred 
years, as Praxiteles flourished more than three hundred years before the 
Christian era ! 

Another Venus has risen up at Florence in modern days, from the 
chisel of Canova, which, in the opinion of some, rivals the antique. It ev- 
idently has the advantage of the other in that she has a drapery thrown 
around her, which, instead of concealing, rather heightens her charms ; 
^ and also that she has, in the judgment of many, a better head and a no- 
bler countenance ; but the limbs and general form are in other respects 
inferior. But to be only inferior to tlie former is great merit ; and to be 
superior in any respect is more meritorious still. 



8UMMEK. 165 



THE SOFT HO'JK FOIl WALKING. 

The sun has lost his rnge : his downward orb 13 70 

Shoots nothing now but animating waiTath, 
And vital lustre r that, with various ray, 
Lights up the clouds, those beauteous robes of heaven, 
Incessant roU'd into romantic shapes. 

The dream of waking fancy ! Broad below, 1375 

Cover'd with ripening fruits, and swelling fast 
Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth 
And all her tribes rejoice. Now the soft hour 
Of walking comes, for him, who lonely loves 
To seek the distant hills, and there converse 138C 

With Nature ; there to harmonize his heart, 
And in pathetic song to breathe around 
The harmony to others. Social friends. 
Attuned to happy unison of soul. 

To whose exalting eye a fairer world, 1385 

Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse. 
Displays its charms ; whose minds are richly fraught 
With philosophic stores, superior light ; 
And in whose breast, enthusiastic, bums 
Virtue, the sons of int'rest deem romance, — 13&0 

Now call'd abroad, enjoy the falhng day : 
Now to the verdant Portico of woods, 

1392-3. Portico : There seems to be a reference here to the porch of 
Zeno at Athens, in which he dehvered his philosophical lectures. His 
followers were hence called Stoicit, or men of the porch. It was a public 
portico, adorned with paintings of the best Grecian masters. Tho 
Lyceum was an inclosure, sacred to Apollo, near Athens, on the right 
bank of the Ilissus, just beyond the city proper, ■ It was adorned by 
Pisistratus, Pericles, and Lycurgu?, with fountains, buildings, and planta- 
tions, and thus became a favorite place of exercise for the Athenian 
youths that were preparing for military service. It was also a common 
resort for philosophers and students. Aristotle and his successors gave 
instruction there while walking about, and were hence denominated 
Peripatetics Some suppose, however, that this name was derived frora 



160 . SrMMKR. 

To Nature's vast Lyceum, forth they walk ; 

By that kind school where no proud master reigns, 

'J.he full, free converse of the friendly heart, 1395 

Improving and improved. Now from the world. 

Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal, 

And pour their souls in transport, which the Sire 

Of love approving hears, and calls it good. 

Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course ? 1400 

The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we choose ? 

All is the same with thee. Say, shall we Avind 

Along the streams ? or w^alk the smiling mead ? 

Or court the forest glades ? or wander wild 

Among the waving harvest ? or ascend, 1405 

While radiant Summer opens all its pride. 

Thy hill, delightful Shene ? Here let us sweep 

The boundless landscape : now the raptured eye, 

Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send ; 

Now to the Sister-hills that skirt her plain, 1410 

To lofty Harrow now, and now to where 

the public walk in the Lyceum, where Aristotle and his disciples were 
accustomed to meet for purposes of instruction. Thomson, in the next 
line, refers to Aristotle as a " proud master." He was the teacher of 
Alexander the Great, and by his able writings on Vitrious subjects ex- 
erted, for nearly two thousand years, a prodigious and unrivalled influ- 
ence over the human mind, in literature, science, and religion. He was the 
father of the scholastic philosophy of the middle ages, which Bacon and 
Descartes had the honor of overthrowing. 

1400. Amanda: The lady to whom Thomson was ardently attnched — 
Miss Young, of whom an account is given in note 480, "Spring." 

1407. Skene: The old name of Riclnnotid, signifying, in Saxon, Shining, 
or Splendor. It is a village nine miles from London, celebrated for its 
beautiful royal gardens, an observatory, and park. Here was a p:ilace 
in which died Edward HI., Henry VH., and Queen Elizabeth. 

1409. Huge Augusta : The huge city of London, whose Latin namo 
was Augusta. 

1410. Suter-lnlls : 'Highgate and Hampstead. 

1411. Harrow : Harrow is situated ten miles N. W. of London, on one 
of the highest hills in the country. This village commands a fine prost- 
pect of London. 



i5"MMi:K. 167 

Majestic Windsor lifts his piincelj'' brow. 

In lovely contiast to this glorious view 

Calmly magniticent, then will we turn 

To where the silver Thames first rural grows. 1415 

There let the feasted eye unwearied stray ; 

Luxurious, there, rove through the pendent woods, 

That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat ; 

And, stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks, 

Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retired, 1420 

With her, the pleasing partner of his heart, 

The worthy Qaeensberry yet laments his Gay, 

1412. Windsor : Thi3 town is twenty-two miles west of London, seat- 
ed on an eminence on the bank of the Thames. " The picturesque beauty 
of its scenery, its noble forest, and the interesting historical associationa 
connected with the vicinity, all combine to confer upon it peculiar at- 
tractions : but it owes its chief celebrity to its magniticent castle, the 
favorite residence of a long line of kings. This castle stands upon a 
high hill, which rises from the town by a gentle ascent ; and its fine ttr- 
race, faced with a rampart of free-stone, 1870 feet in length, is one of the 
noblest walks in Europe, with respect to strength, grandeur, and pros- 
pects. It was built originally by William the Conqueror, and enlarged 
by Henry I. Great additions have been made to it by subsequent mon- 
archs. From that part of the castle called the Round Tower, the eye 
embraces one of the most noble and extensive prospects in England ; for 
not fewer than twelve counties may be discerned with the naked eye ; 
while the landscape presents every combination of picturesque beauty.'* 
— Brooke. 

1418. Harrington: The Earl of Harrington, appointed Secretary of 
State in 1742. 

1422. The Duke of Queensberry took Gay, the humorous poet and 
dramatist, into his house, and gave him a home during the latter part of 
his life. He also, with the Duchess, " the pleasing partner of his heart," 
erected a monument to his memory in Westminster Abbey. Gay was 
born in 1688, and died in 1732. He was a popular, but immoral writer — 
a companion of Swift, and of Pope. The latter characterized him as 

Of manners gentle, of affections mild ; 
In wit a man, simplicity a child. 

The epitaph in Westminster Abbey, written for and by liin self, consiatg 
of the following lines : 

Life is a jest, and all things show It ; 
I thought so once, and now I know it 



168 sum:vii:k. 

And polish'd Cornbury woos (he willing Muse. 

Slow let us trace the matchless vfile of Thames ; 

Fair, winding up to where the Muses hamit 1425 

In Twit'ham's bowers, and for their Pope implore 

The healing God ; to royal Hampton's pile, 

•* Not so," remarks Dr. Fisk : " bj this time he has doubtless discovered 
that life is a momentous reahty ; short, it is true, but pregnant with fu- 
ture and eternal consequences ! What an imposition upon the living, and 
what an insult to the dead, is such an epitaph !" 

1423. Cornbury : Probably one of the sons of Edward Hyde, earl of 
Clarendon. 

1426. TwWhamh boivers : The village of Twickenham, on the Thames, 
not far from London, was selected by Alexander Pope as his residence, 
and there, in a beautiful villa, he passed some twenty years of the latter 
part of his life. The taste with which Pope laid out the grounds he had 
leased (five acres in all) produced, it is said, a decided effect upon Eng- 
lish landscape gardening. Previously the stiff, formal Dutch style had 
prevailed, but he was greatly instrumental in bringing it into disrepute. 
This distinguished poet and satirist, author of the " Essay on Man," was 
born in 1688, and died in 1744. His villa was the frequent resort of 
great statesmen, poets, wits, and female beauties, attracted thither by,^ 
his wit, his fancy, good sense, exquisite taste, and other accomplishments. 
He had a feeble constitution, and was subjected at last to a long illness, 
to which reference is made by Thomson. 

It is the more natural in Thomson to refer to Pope, as, like himself. 
Pope was an intimate friend of Lord Lyttleton, and a visitor at Hagley 
Park and Hall. Hugh Miller informs us that he observed there a beaiati- 
ful spot "which had been as favorite a retreat of Pope as two others of 
Thomson and Shenstone, and in which an elaborately carved urn and ped- 
estal records Lyttleton's estimate of his powers as a writer, and his views 
as a moralist : ' the sweetest and most elegant,' says the inscription, ' of 
English poets ; the severest chastiser of vice, and the most persua.^ive 
teacher of wisdom.' The little crooked man, during the last thirteen 
years of his life, was a frequent visitor at Hagley ; and it is still (1845) a 
tradition in the neighborhood, that in the hollow in which his urn has 
been erecitd he particularly delighted. He forgot Gibber, Sporux, and 
Lord Fanny ; flung up with much glee his poor shapeless legs, thickened 
by three pairs of stockings apiece, and far from thick, after all; and called 
the place ' his own ground.' It certainly does no discredit to the taste 
that originated the gorgeous though somewhat indistinct descriptions of 
* Windsor Forest.' " 

1427. Hamptons pile : The royal palace at Hampton, on the Thames, 
thirteen miles S. W. of London. This palace was originally built by Car- 



To Clermont's terraced licight, and Esher's groves, 
Where in the sweetest sohtude, embraced 
By the soft windings of the silent Mole, U30 

. From courts and senates Pelham finds repose. 
Enchanting vale ! beyond whate'er tlie Muse 
Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung ! 
O vale of bliss ! softly swelling hills ! 
On which the power of cultivation lies, I435 

And joys to see the wonders of his toil. 

COMPLIMENTARY ADDRESS TO BRITAIN. 

Heavens ! what a goodly prospect spreads around. 
Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, 

dinal Woolsey, and presented by him to Henry VIII. ; but was nearly 
superseded by the present palace, erected by William IIL The gar- 
dens, parks, and buildings occupy a space four miles in circumference. 

1430. Mole: A smaU river in the county of Surrey, and entering the 
1 names not far from London. 

1431. Pelham: Sir Henry Pelham, who succeeded Sir Robert Wal- 
pole as Prime Minister of Great Britain in 1*742. 

1433. Achaia or Hesperia : Greece or Italy, though in a limited sense 
Achaia was a province of Peloponnesus. The vale referred to is that 
of the Thames. 

1437-41. Goodly prospect, <fcc. : Thomson is supposed to be speakin^ of ' 
the prospect from Hagley, concerning which the following remarks" of 
Hugh Miller are worthy of introduction here :-The entire prospect-one 
of the finest in England, and eminently characteristic of what is best in 
English scenery— enabled me to understand what I here used to de^m a 
peculiarity— in some measure a defect— in the landscapes of the poet 
Thomson. It must have often struck the Scotch reader, that in dealing 
with very extended prospects, he rather enumerates than describes'' 
His pictures are often mere catalogues, in which single words stand for 
classes of objects, and in which the entire poetry seems to consist in an 
overmastering sense of vast extent occupied by amazing multiplicity I 
cannot better illustrate my meaning than by his introductory description 
to the " Panegyric on Great Britain," 1437-1441. 

Now the prospect from the hill at Hagley furnished me with the true 
explanation of this enumerative style. Measured along the horizon it 
must, on the lowest estimate, be at least fifty miles in longitudinal ex- 

8 



170 SUMilKR. 

And trlitU'iip.o* towns, and o-ildcd streams, tili all 

Tlie stretching landscape into smoke deca3^s ! 1440 

Happy Britannia ! where the queen of arts, 

Inspiring vigor, Liberty, abroad 

Walks, unconfined, e'en to thy farthest cots, 

And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. 

Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime ; 1445 

Thy streams unfailing in the Summer's drought ; 
Unmatch'd thy guardian oaks ; thy valleys float 
With golden waves ; and on thy mountains, flocks 
Bleat numberless ! while, roving round the sides, 
Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves. 1450 

Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquell'd 
Against the mower's scythe. On every hand. 
Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth ; 
And property assures it to the swain, 
Pleased and unwearied, in his guarded toil. 1455 

Full are thy cities with the sons of art ; 
And trade and joy, in every busy street. 
Mingling are heard. E'en Drudgery himself, 
As at the car he sweats, or dusky hews 

tent ; measured laterally, from the spectator forwards, at least twenty. 
Some of the Welsh mountains which it includes are nearly thrice that 
distance ; but then tliey are mere remote peaks, and the area at their 
bases not included in the prospect. The real area, however, must rather ^ 
exceed than fall short of a thousand square miles : the fields into which 
it is laid out are small, scarcely averaging a square furlong in superficies; 
80 that each square mile must contain about forty, and the entire land- 
scape for all is fertihty — about forty thousand. With these there are 

commixed innumerable cottages, manor-houses, villages, towns. Here 
the surface is dimpled by unreckoned hollows ; there fretted by uncount- 
ed mounds: all is amazing, overpowering multiplicity— a multiplicity 
which neither the pen nor the pencil can adequately express ; and so de- 
scription, in even the hands of a master, sinks into mere enumeration. 
The picture becomes a catalogue ; and all that genius can accomphsh in 
the curcumstances is just to do with its catalogue what Homer did with 
his — dip it in poetry. 

1441. Queen of arts: Liberty, in the next hn?. 



SUMMER. 171 

Tlie palace stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, 14G0 

Where rising masts an endless prospect yield. 

With labor burn, and echo to the shouts 

Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves 

His last adieu, and, loosening every sheet. 

Resigns the spreading vessel to the wind. 1465 

Bold, firm, and graceful are thy generous youth, 
By hardship sinew'd, and by danger fired, 
Scattering the nations where they go ; and first, 
Or on the listed plain, or stormy seas. 
Mild are thy glories, too, as o'er the plans 14Y0 

Of thriving peace thy thoughtful sires preside ; 
In genius and substantial learning high ; 
For every virtue, every worth, renown'd ; 
Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind ; 
Yet, like the muttering thunder, when provoked, 1475 

The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource 
Of those that under grim oppression groan. 

Britain's DISTINGUISHED sons. 

Thy Sons of Glory many ! Alfred thine, 
In whom the splendor of heroic war, 



1418. Thy Sons of Glory : The long paragraph here commencing may 
l»e regarded as a splendid Portrait Gallery, displaying to great advantage 
the taste, and genius, and historical information of the poet. It is worthy 
of close study and attention. The notes upon this paragraph are intend- 
ed to throw a stronger light upon the canvas, so thai the subjects may 
be better understood, and be contemplated with gi eater interest and 
profit. 

1478. Alfred, son of Ethel wolf, ascended the Anglo-Saxon throne oi 
England at twenty years of age, was obliged to maintain it by prodigies 
of valor against several hostile incursions of the Danes. Having conquer- 
ed these, he persuaded the remainder of the Danish army to embrace 
Cliristianity, and gave them hberty to occupy Northumberland and East 
Anglia. He was a prince of great wisdom as well as valor. He estab- 
lished civil and military institutions, formed the minds of his rude pea 



1 72 - SUMMER. 

And more heroic })eace, when g(/vera'd well, 1480 

Combine ; whose hallow'd name the vh'tues saint, 
And his own Muses love ; the best of kmo^s ! 



pie to industry and justice. He is regarded as the creator of the Enghsh 
navy, as well as the establisher of the nionarcliy, and in various ways 
provided, in troublous times, for the security of his kingdom. He was, 
moreover, the father of English law and English hterature. He framed 
. a body of laws which, though now lost, served long as the basis of Eng- 
^ lish jurisprudence, and was the origin of the English Common Law. 
Though rigorous in the administration of justice, he entertained a pro- 
found regard fur the liberty and general welfare of his subjects. .Jn his 
will he introduced this remarkable declaration — " It is just that the Eng- 
lish should ever remain free as their own thoughts." 

He gave great encouragement to learning. He invited to England 
some of the most celebrated scholars from all parts of Europe : every- 
where he estabhshed schools for the education of tlie ignorant ; he found- 
ed, or greatly improved, the University of Oxford, and endowed it Avith 
many privileges and immunities; he enjoined by law all freeholders, 
possessed of a specitied amount of land, to send their children to 
school ; and he gave preferment, either in Church or State, to such only 
as had made some proiiciency in science. 

He was a writer himself. He prepared ajid circulated a number of 
poems, fables, and tales, to lead the ignorant to the pursuit of knowl- 
edge. He translated from the Greek the Fables of ./Esop ; and fur- 
nished Saxon translations of the histories of Orosius and Bede, and of 
the Constitution of Philosophy by Boethius. He turned his attention 
also to the encouragement of the mechanical arts, granting liberal re- 
wards to inventors and improvers of useful and ingenious arts. He im- 
proved the architecture qf the kingdom, and devoted himself to the 
extension of commerce. 

" This extraordinary man, who is justly considered, both by natives 
and foreigners, as the greatest prince afte^ Charlemagne that Europe 
saw for several ages, and as one of the wisest and best that ever adorned 
the annals of any nation, died in the year 901, in the vigor of his age 
and full strength of his faculties, after a life of fifty-three years, and a 
glorious reign of twenty-nine years and a half. His merit, both in public 
and private life, may be set in opposition to that of any sovereign or 
citizen in ancient or modern times. He seems, indeed, as an elegant 
and profound historian (Hume) has observed, to be the complete model 
of that perfect cliaracter which, under the denomination of a sage, or 
truly wise man, philosophers have been so fond of delineating, without 
the hopes of ever seeing it realized." — Russell's Modern Europe, vol. I, 
•?7-82. 



SUM.^IKR. . 173 

With him thy Edwards and thy Henries shine. 
Names dear to fame ; the first, who d(^ep impress'd 
On haughty Gaul the terror of tliy arms, 1485 

That awes her genius stilh In statesmen thou, 
. And patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More, 
"Who, with a generous though mistaken zeal, 
Wi til stood a brutal tyrant's useful rage. 
Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, 1490 

Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor ; 

1^3. Tliere were three Edrmrds of the Saxon line, five of tlie Ph\n- 
tagenet, and one of the Tudor. There were eight Henries, belonging to 
three different lines of kings. 

1485. Gaul : France. Edward III. was the first, and the principal of 
the Edwards in the invasion of France, 

1487. More: Sir Tliomas More, Chancellor of England under Henry 
VIII. Thomson refers to his opposition, as an adherent of t])e Pope, 
to the claims of that imperious monarch to he acknowledged as the only 
supreme Head of the Church of England upon ^arth. For refusing to 
acknowledge the king's ecclesiastical supremacy, Mure was condemned to 
die on the scaffold, and met his sentence with great fortitude, in 1535. 
He opposed Henry, also, in regard to the divorce of Queen Catharine. 
He is represented as a man of great learning, integrity, and capacity. 

1490. We noticed Cato in y54, one of whose most conspicuous charac- 
teristics was firmness ; as those of Aristidcfi were justice and integrity. 
Notwithstanding his brilliant public services, tlirough the intrigues of tlie 
jealous Themistocle*, a decree of banishment from Greece was procured 
from tlie inconstant people. Wliile they were writing upon shells their 
votes to this effect, an illiterate Athenian, not acquainted with Aristides, 
requested tlie latter to write upon his shell the name of Aristides. Be- 
ing iisked what harm Aristides had done him, he replied : He has done 
me no liarm ; but I am tired of hearing him called the Just. Aristides, 
cm benig recalled, was intrusted with the management of the public rev- 
enues, and though he had an opportunity of enriching himself, was nev- 
ertheless so just and honest, that he died in absolute povert}--, not leaving 
enough to pay his funeral expenses, or to furnish marriage gifts to his 
two daughters. An anecdote which reflects great lustre on his-charactei 
as ati upright judge, may be added. The accuser, with a view to preju 
dice him against the defendant, was piYiceeding to tell what injuries the 
defendant had done to Aristides ; but was prevented by the inipartial 
ju ige, who exclaimed — " Tell me of the wrongs which he has done to 
you ; fur I sit here to atlminister justice to you, not to myself." 

1491. L. Qu'ntius Cincinnatus, a lloman patrician farmer, who was 



174: .'. SUMMER. 

A dauntless soul erect, wlio smiled on death. 

Fruf^al and wise, a Wjilsingham is thine ; 

A Drake, who made thee mistxfiys of the deep. 

And bore thy name in thunder round the world. 1495 

Then flamed thy spirit high : but who can speak 

The numerous worthies of the Maiden Reign ? 

In Raleigh mark their every glory mix'd ; 

Raleigh, the scourge of Spain ! whose breast with all 

^ iFicc }:onored with the supreme office of Dictator at Rome, retm'ning m 
v^ch case to the humble pursuit of agriculture, to his chosen work of 
Vloughiug his own fields. 

1493. Walsingliam : Sir Francis Walsingham, Secretary of State un- 
tser Elizabeth — an able statesman and firm Protestant. He displayed 
^reat pe.ietration and address in making discovery of foreign intrigues 
ag'ainst t]:o queen's government. He acquired honor as an ambassador, 
aad yet ditd so poor, in liis ninetieth year, that lie was privately buried 
by night in St. Paul's Church, without any funeral ceremony. 

1494. Braie : Sir Francis Drake, an eminent English navigator and 
nt.val hero, w^o, as such, in the reign of Elizabeth, rendered to his coun- 
try signal service. He died in 1596. 

litVS. Raleigk : Sir Walter Raleigh, another ornament of the "Maiden 
Re\4,\r' — the rei^ii of Elizabeth — born in loo'i. In 1578 he engaged in 
an expedition th« purpose of which was to discover and colonize some 
part of North America. He did not succeed — and yet in 1583 he sailed 
for Newfoundland, and with no better results ; but subsequently he dis- 
covert^ Wigandacoa, which, in honor of his virgin queen, was called 
Virgin.a, and in two successive voyages establislied colonies there. He 
has tht, honor, or the disftonor, of first introducing tobacco into England, 
and ret»»iering it an article of commerce. He had an important agency 
in destt*)ying the famous Spanish Armada, in 1588. On the death of the 
queen ut\(\ the accession of James, he was condemned for high treason, 
on altoj>«;ther inadequate grounds. He was reprieved, however, a*cl 
confined »t)r many years in the Tower at London, wlien he devoted him- 
self to fi.e preparation of his History of tlie World, the first volume of 
which ai)ptjared in 1614. Two years after this he was released, and 
served his country in an expedition to explore the gold mines of Guiana ; 
but unjust complaints of his proceedings there being reported by the 
Spanish amoassador to James, that weak and arbitrary monarch ordered 
him to be seized, and to be beheaded on liis former accusation, in October, 
1618. He WEis worthy of a better fate than to satiate the vengeance ol' 
i\\Q Spanish, who were indignant at the success of his arms, 'i'he reign 
of James is justly denominated " a coward reign." Thomson has pr«- 



The sage, the patriot, and the hero biirn'd. 1500 

Nor sunk his vigor, when a coward i-eign 

The warrior fetter'd, and at hist resign'd, 

To ghit tlie vengeance of a vanquisli'd foe. 

Then, active still and unrestrain'd, his mind 

Explored the vast extent of ages past, 1505 

And with his prison-hours enrich'd the world ; 

Yet found no times, in all the long research, 

So glorious or so base, as those he proved, 

In which he conquer'd, and in which he bled. 

Nor can the Muse the gallant Sidney pass, 1510 

eented an accurate and skilful portrait of this energetic and accomplished 
man. 

1510 Sidnei/ : Sir Philip Sidney, an able statesman in the reign of Eliz- 
abeth, by whom he was much honored. He was a brave warrior, and died 
in 1587 of a wound which he received in the battle of Zutphen, on the 
banks of the Issel, in Guelderland, He is the author of a celebrated ro« 
mance entitled Arcadia, and of a Defence of Poetry, also of several poems. 
"His bravery and chivalrous magnanimity ; his grace and polish of man- 
ner; the purity of his morals; his learning and relinement of taste, had 
procured for hira love and esteem wherever he was known. By the di- 
rection of Ehzabeth his remains were conveyed to London, and honored 
with a public funeral in the cathedral of St. Paul's." 

An old writer thus eulogizes his varied merit : — " Gentle Sir Philip Sid- 
ney, thou knewest what belonged to a scholar : thou knewest what pains, 
what toil, what travel, conduct to perfection ; well couldst thou give ev- 
ery virtue his encouragement, every art his due, every writer his desert^ 
'cause none more virtuous, witty, or learned than tln'^self " 

Another describes his whole life as *' poetr}-^ put into action," The North 
American Review (1832) contains an interesting article, in which it is 
stated that, when Sidney was retiring from the field of battle fatally 
wounded, an incident occurred, which well illustrates his chivalrous spirit 
and tliat goodness of heart Avhich gained him the appellation of the " Gen- 
tle Sir Philip Sidney," the circumstance having been made the subject of 
an historical painting by West. It is thus related by Lord Brooke : 

The horse he rode upon was rather furiously clioleric than bravely 
proud, and so forced him to forsake the field but not liis back, as the no- 
blest and fittest bier to carry a martial commander to His grave. Tn 
which sad progress, passing along by the rest of the army where his uncle 
the General was, and being thirsty with excess of bleeding, he called for 
drink, which was presently brought him ; but as he was putting the bofc- 



176 suMMi:i:. 

The plume of war ! with early laurels crowii'd, 

The lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay. 

A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land, 

Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul. 

Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age, 1515 

To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again, 

In all thy native pomp of freedom bold. 

Bright, at his call, thy age of men eff'ulged. 

Of men on whom late time a kindling eye 

Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read. 1520 

Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew 



tie to his mouth, he saw a poor soldier carried along, wlio had eaten bis 
last at the same feast, ghastly casting up his eyes at the bottle ; wRich 
Sir Philip perceiving, took it from his head before he drank, and deliver- 

• ed it to the poor man with these words, " Thy necessity is yet greater 
than mine." 

1513. Hampden : John Hampden, the distinguished patriot, who op 
posed the arbitrary taxation of Charles L, and became the leader of the 
popular party in the House of Commons against the king. When the 
civil wars commenced, he took the field, and after a valorous career was 
cut down when engaged in battle against Prince Rupert, June, 1643. 

His history (says Macaulay), more particularly from the beginning of 
the year 1640 to his death, is the history Of England. A great and terri- 
ble crisis had then come. A direct attack was made by an arbitrary gov- 
ernment on a sacred right of Englishmen, on a riglit which was a chief 
security for all their other rights. The nation looked round for a defender. 
Calmly and unostentatiously the plain Buckinghamshire Esquire placed 
himself at the head of his countrymen, and right before the face and 
across the path of tyranny. The times grew darker and more troubled. 
Public service, perilous, arduous, delicate, was required ; and to every 
service the intellect and the courage of this wonderful man were found 
fully equal. He became a debater of the first order, a most dexterous 
manager of the House of Commons, a negotiator, a soldier. He governed 
a fierce and turbulent assembly, abounding in able men, as easily as he 
had governed his family. He showed himself as competent to direct a 
campaign as to conduct the business of the petty sessions. We can 
scarcely express the admiration which we feel for a mind so great, and, 

* at the same time, so healthful and so well proportioned ; so willingly 
contra' ting itself to the humblest duties; so easily expanding itself to the 
higher ; so contented in repose ; so powerful in action. 



SUMMER. 177 

The grave where Russel lies ; vfhose temper'd blood, 

With calmest cheerfulness for thee re^ign'd, 

Staiif d the sad annals of a giddy reign, 

Aiming at lawless power, though meanly sunk 1525 

In loose, inglorious luxury. With him 

His friend, the British Cassias, fearless bled ; 

Of high determined spirit, roughly brave. 

By ancient learning to th'enlighten'd love 

Of ancient freedom warm'd. Fair thy renown 1530 

In awful sages and in noble bards ; 

Soon as the light of dawning science spread 

Her orient ray, and waked the Muses' song. 

Thine is a Bacon ; hapless in his choice, 

1522. Russell-^: Lord "William Russell, who had a seat in the House of 
Commons under Charles IT., opposed the succession of the Duke of York 
to the throne, and was charged with treasonable conduct as an associate 
of the Duke of Monmouth, and beheaded in 1683. The "giddy reign" of 
Charles II. is well described by Thomson. 

1527. British Cas.tius : It is supposed that under this title is intended 
Algernon Sidney. In the civil war he espoused the side of the Parliament 
against Charles I., and was colonel in the army. Making the Roman Bru- 
tus his mod^el, and being in favor of a pure democracy, he opposed the 
course of Cromwell. Being absent from England at the restoration of 
Charles II., he was promised a pardon on his return. By the infamous 
Judge Jeffreys he was tried on the charge of being implicated in the 
Rye-house plot, and found guilty, and though he complained to the king 
of an unfair trial, was beheaded Dec. 7, 168:^. Ke was an able writer, a 
man of high spirit, and of strong republican tendencies. His Discourses 
on Government possess great merit. From his daring spirit, connected 
with his opposition to tyranny and usurpation, our author styles him the 
British Cassius — Cassius having been the impetuous foe of Juhus Ccesar 
in tlie latter part of his ambitious career. 

1534. Bacon : Sir Francis Bacon, who under Elizabeth and James aro«e 
from one post of distinction to another until he was appointed Lord Chan- 
cellor. As a philosopher he has rendered himself immortal bv markuig 
out in his Novum Organum the true method of scientific research, and 
by exploding those that liad been pursued in previous ages. As a man, 
a courtier, and a politician, he rendered himself despicable by his slavish 
obsequiousness to the sovereign, and by hi» confessed guilt in the matter 
f^ gross bribery and corruption as a judge. The sentence to an euormou* 

8* 



178 SrMMER. 

Unfit to sta .d the civil storm of state, 1535 

And through the smooth barbarity of courts. 

With firm but pliant virtue, forward still 

To urge his course. Him for the studious shade 

Kind Nature form'd, deep, comprehensive, clear, 

Exact, and elegant ; in one rich soul, 1540 

Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd. 

uue, and indefinite imprisonment, was, however, subsequently remitted, 
und ne passed the remainder of his days in scientific pursuits — his life 
Closing in 1626. He is regarded as the father of experimental science. 
As has been observed by Chambers, " he turned the attention of philos- 
oprjcrs from speculations and disputes upon qi^stions remote from use, 
ana hxed it upon inquiries ' productive of works for the benefit of the 
life ol man.' The Aristotelian philosophy was barren : the object of Ba- 
con was ' the amplification of the power and kingdom of mankind over 
the world' — ' the enlargement of the bounds of human empire to the ef- 
fecting all things possible' — the augmentation, by means of science, of 
the sum ol human happiness, and the alleviation of human suffering. 
Bacon, like Sidney, was a ' warbler of poetic prose.' No English writci 
has surpassed him in fervor and brilliancy of style, in force of expression, 
or in richness ana significance of imagery. He has treated of philosopiiy 
with all the splettaor, yet none of the vagueness of poetry." The best 
account of his lirt; ana philosophy, perhaps, is to be found in Mi»caulay'8 
Miscellanies, to whicn i refer, instead of lengthening this notp h\ quota- 
tions. 

1541. Flato the Starfyritc, and Tully join d: In Bacon were united the 
distinguishing endowments ot those great men. Like Plato, he had a 
soaring genius, a philosophical and poetic spirit : he united a lively fancy 
to great acuteness of intellect. Cicero says of Plato's diction, that if 
Jupiter were to speak in the Greek tongue he would use the language 
of Plato; and Aristotle regards it -as a species of diction intermediate 
between verse and prose. He excels also in discussing abstract subjects, 
being generally clear, simple, and harmonious. 

Tlie Stagyrite, or Aristotle, who was born at Stagyra, was distinguished 
for habits of research into all classes of subjects, physical, moral, and in- 
tellectual, and for his prodigious acquisitions and learned treatises. More 
than any previous writer he enlarged the limits of philosophical inquiry. 
He made Logic the Orgaiion, or instrument for obtaining general knowl- 
edge, or rather of conducting an argumentation. Intellect in him was the 
leading faculty. While he entitled his works Organon, Bacon tlenomi- 
nated his own the Novum Organurn, or new instrument of Truth. 

He resembled Tally, or Cicero, in his great powers as an orator aadmi 



SUMMER. 179 

Tlie great deliverer he ! who from the glcom 

Of cloister'd monks, nnd j'lrg-on teaching schools, 

Led forth the true Philosophy, there long 

Held in the magic cJiain of words and forms, 1545 

And definitions void : he led her*forth, 

Dauojhter of Heaven ! that, slow ascendinor still. 

Investigating sure the chain of things. 

With radiant finger points to heaven again. 

The generous Ashley thine, the friend of man ; 1550 

Who scann'd his nature with a brother's eye, 

His weakness prompt to shade, to raise his aim, 

To touch the finer movements of the mind. 

And with the moral beauty charm the heart. 

Why need I name thy Boyle, whose pious search, 1555 

Amid the dark recesses of his works, 



a pleader, to which, as in the case of Cicero, he was indebted for his rapra 
advancement to the highest dignities of the state. Like hira, also, ho 
lacked firmness and decision ; he was cringing and servile in his adulation 
of men in power. He chose the interests of the court rather than those 
of the people " in the civil storm of state," and thus was " hapless in his 
choice." He was greedy of wealth and of distinction, and mean in his 
modes of seeking both. 

1550 AfiJdey : Robert Ashley was a lawyer and a writer of some dis- 
tinction, a collector of books on the continent, and a great benefactor of 
the society to which he belonged. He died in 1641. 

It is possible that not the above person, but Anthony Ashley Cooper, 
Earl of Shaftesbury, and author of the " Characteristics," was designated 
by Thomson. He was a fine scholar, an accomplished gentleman, and an 
eloquent writer, though tinctured with skeptical opinions. He died in 
1713. 

1555. Robert. Boyle stands deservedly high in the annals of British sci- 
ence, philanthropy, and religion. He was distinguished as an experimen- 
tal philov'opher and chemist, invented the air-pump, and was a prominent 
member of the Royal Society of London for the Improvement of Katural 
Knowledge, incorporated by diaries II. in 1662. Of this society he was 
in vain urged to accept the presidency. He was an active, zealous Chris- 
tian, and promoter of Christianity, both by his writings and with hia 
money. His annual charities amounted to about -15000. His workc- em- 
brace 5 vols, folio. He died in 1691. 



180 SUMMER. 

Thfe great Creator sought ? And why thy Locke, 

Who made the whole internal world his own ? 

Let Newton, pure intelligence, whom God 

To mortals lent, to trace his boundless works 1560 

From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame 

In all philosophy. For lofty sense. 

Creative fancy, and inspection keen. 

Through the deep windings of the human heart, 

Is not wild Shakspeare thine and Nature's boast ? • ]565 

1557. John Loclce has a world-wide renown from his great treatise on 
the Human Understanding, still used as a text-book in some of the first 
institutions of learning. Its composition occupied nine years. He wrote 
several other treatises, which are highly esteemed. In 1704 he died. 

1559. Sir Isaac JVeivton, one of the most illustrious names adorning any 
country or age ; born in 1642. Mathematics and Astronomy was the field 
he most cultivated, and with unexampled success. In 1669 he succeeded 
Dr, Barrow in the mathematical chair at Cambridge, where he d-eUvered 
lectures on the discoveries he had made in Optics and on his Theory of 
Light and Color, He was elected President of the Royal Society i»i 
1703, and for twenty-five years held that honorable position — even t«» nia 
death. The Bible was his daily study ; and upon the prophetical writ- 
ings he published an excellent commftnta.ry. His great scientific treatise 
he entitled " Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica." As a rjan 
he possessed the most estimable traits, and received during his puUic 
life the greatest consideration from Queen Anne, George I., and the men 
of science and refinement in those reigns. 

1565. William Shakspeare, the great poet of human nature, and the 
unrivalled dramatist, born in Stratford-on-Avon in 1564, and lived till 
1616. The plots of his dramas were chiefly borrowed from novels and 
romances, from legendary stories, or from older plays. In preparing those 
plays in which Roman subjects are prominent, lie used North's translation 
of Plutarch ; while Holinshed's Chronicle furnished him the incidents for 
bis English historical dramas. 

Hazlitt draws his portrait with the hand of a master. There is room 
but for a small part of it. He " had a mind reflecting ages past" and 
present ; all the people that ever lived are there. There was lio respect 
of persons with him. His genius shone equally on the evil and on cha 
good, on the wise and on the foolish, the monarch and the beggar : ' Ah 
corners of the earth, kings, queens, and states, maids, matrons. na\, the 
secrets of the grave," are hardly hid from bis searching glame. He 
turned the globe round for his amusement, and surveyed the gen jiation-s 
ef a'.eiJ» aud the individuals a» they passed, with their diiferent concerns^ 



SUMMER. " 181 



Is not each great, each amiable Muse 
Of classic ag-es in thy Milton met ? 
A genius universal as his thenie, 
Astonishinr^ as chaos, as the bloom 



o 



passions, follies, vices, virtues, actions, and motives — as well those that 
they knew, as those which they did not know or acknowledge to them-n 
selves. Airy beings united at his call, and came at his bidding. The f 
world of spirits lay open to him, like the world of real men and women 
and there is the same truth in his delineations of. the one as of the other 
for if the preternatural characters he describes could be supposed to ex 
ist, they would speak and feel and act as he makes them. He had only 
to think of any thing in order to become that thing, with all tlie circum- 
stances belonging to it. When he conceived of a character, whether real 
or imaginary, he not only entered into all its thoughts, but seemed Id- 
stantly to be surrounded with all the same objects, the same local out- 
ward and unforeseen accidents which would occur in reality. The poet 
may be said, for the time, to identify himself with the character he wishes 
to represent, and to pass from one to another, like the same soul success- 
ively animating different bodies. His plays are properly expressions of 
the passions, not descriptions of them. Shakspeare's imagination is of 
the same jjlastic kind as his conception of character or passion. He has 
also a magic power over words : they come winged at his bidding ; and 
seem to know their places. His epithets and single phrases are like 
sparkles, thrown off from an imagination tired by the whirling rapidity 
of its own motion. His language in the impassioned parts translates 
thoughts into visible images. His versification is nfi less powerful, sweet, 
and varied. He had an equal genius for tragedy and comedy. 

Upon the faults of Shakspeare as an author, it has been observed, that 
some of his plays are hastily and ill-constructed as to plot ; that his 
proneness to quibble and play with words is brought forward in scenes 
where this peculiarity constitutes a positive defect ; that he is soijietimes 
indelicate where indelicacy is least pardonable, and where it jars niost 
painfully with the associations of the scene, and that his style is occa- 
sionally stiff, tinged, and obscure, chiefly because it is at once highly fig- 
urative and condensed in expression. 

1567. John Milton, the great classical poet of England, whose immortal 
poems deserve a place with those of Homer and Virgil, was born in 1608, 
and died in 1674. He was an elegant Latin scholar, and wrote fluently 
tliat language, and was appointed "Latin Secretary to the council of state 
He was a stanch advocate of republican principles and of CromAvell ; and 
therefore at the Restoration of the Stuarts he was compelled to conceal 
himself to escape from political penalties. However, through the inter- 
cession of friends, and in view of his great learning and consummate abil- 



182 SUMMER. 

Of blowing Eden fair, as heaven sublime! 15*70 

Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget, 

The gentle Spenser, Fancy's pleasing son ; 

Who, like a copious river pour'd his song 

O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground : 

Nor thee, his ancient master, laughing sage, 15*75 



itiep, he Tvas pardoned by Charles IT., who also offered to him the foreign 
or Latin secretaryship, bat he declined it for the purpose of devoting him- 
self to the completion of his great Poem — the Paradise Lost, and its se- 
quel — Paradise Regained. His prose writings, which are numerous, dis- 
play great learning, and uncommon vigor of thought and of style. Of 
his poetic qualifications it would be difficult to give a more condensed 
and yet comprehensive account than Thomson has placed before us — the 
substance of which is, that the poetry of Milton combines the excellencies 
of the hest of the Grecian and Roman bards. 

I would add, from Hazlitt, that Milton adorns and dignifies his subject 
to the utmost : he surrounds it with every possible association of beauty 
or granrleur, whether moral, intellectual, or physical. He refines on his 
descriptions of beauty, till the sense aches at them ; and raises his images 
of terror to a gigantic elevation that " makes Ossa like a wart." Milton 
has borrowed more than any other writer, and exhausted every source of 
imitation, sacred or profane ; yet he is perfectly distinct from every other 
writer. The power of his mind is stamped on every line. His learning 
has all the effect of intuition. He describes objects, of which he could 
only have read in books, with the vividness of actual observation. His 
imagination has the force of nature. He makes words tell as pictures. 
Milton's blank verse is the only blank verse in the language (except 
Shakspeare's) that deserves the name of verse, 

1572. Edthund Spenser : A much admired poet of the reign of Eliza- 
beth : the poet laureate. His death occurred in 1598. The language 
of his poems is now in a great measure obsolete : they display a lively, 
inventive, and powerful genius. According to Chambers : — Spenser is the 
most luxuriant and melodious of all the English descriptive poets. His 
creation of scenes and objects is infinite, and in free and sonorous versifi- 
cation he has not yet been surpassed. His " lofty rhyme" has a swell and 
cadence, and a continuous sweetness, that we find nowhere else. In 
richness of fancy and invention, he can scarcely be ranked below Shak- 
speare, and he is fully as original. The romantic character of his poetry 
is its most essential and permanent feature. The Faery Queen is his chief 
production, and being adapted to the court and times of the virgin Queen, 
met with a most enthusiastic receptiMi. The Queen in view of it gave 
him a pension of £50 per annum. 



StMMER. 183 

Chaucer, whose native, manners-painting'verse. 
Well moralized shines through the Gothic cloud 
Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown. 



1516. Geoffrey Chancer is denominated hy Dryden, the*Father of Eng- 
lish poetry. He was born in London in 1328, educated at Cambridge and 
Oxford, and improved by continental travel. Having held mider govern- 
ment several lucrative offices, he suffered severe persecution for embra- 
cing the tenets of Wickliffe, and then retired from public life — not to be 
idle, but to cultivate and exercise his poetic talents. 

" Chaucer was a man of the work! as well as a student : a soldier and 
courtier, employed in public affairs of delicacy and importance, and equal- 
ly acquainted with the splendor of the warhke and magnificent reign o^ 
Edward III., and with the bitter reverses of fortune which accompanied 
the subsequent troubles and convulsions. When about sixty, in the calm 
evening of a busy life, he composed his Canterbury Tales, simple and va- 
ried as nature herself, imbued with the results of extensive experience and 
close observation, and colored with the genial lights of a happy temper- 
timent, that had looked on the world without austerity, and passed through 
its changing scenes without losing tlie freshness and vivacity of youthful 
feeling and imagination." For a full account of these Tales and of the 
author, T must refer tlie reader to Chambers' Cyclopedia, whence this ex- 
tract is taken. 

Hazlitt gives us the following view of Chaucer and Spenser : As Spen- 
ser was the most romantic and visionary, Chaucer was the most practical 
of all the great poets. His poetry reads like history. Every thing has 
a downright reality ; at least in the relator's mind. A simile, or a senti- 
ment, is as if it were given in upon evidence. His poetry resembles the 
root just springing from the ground rather than the full-blown flower. 
Chaucer's descriptions of natural scenery have a local truth and fresh- 
ness, which gives the very feeling of the air, the coolness or moisture of 
the ground. Spenser, as well as Chaucer, was engaged in active life ; but 
the genius of his poetry was not active : it is inspired by the love of 
ease and relaxation from all the cares and business of life. Though much 
later than Chaucer, his obligations to preceding writers were less. If 
Ariosto transports us into the regions of romance, Spenser's poetry is all 
fairy-land. In Ariosto we walk upon the ground, in company gay, fan- 
tastic, and adventurous enough. In Spenser, we wander in another world, 
among ideal beings. The poet takes and lays us in the lap of a lovelier 
nature, by the sound of softer streams, among greener hills and fairer 
valleys. He is the painter of abstractions, and describes them with daz- 
zling minuteness. His versification is at once the most smooth and the 
moet sounding in the language. 

J 677. Gothic cloud of time and language, <tc. : Chaucer wrote at a tima 



184 ' summp:b. 

May my sohg soften, as thy Daughters I, 
Britannia, hail ! for beauty is their own, 1580 

The feehng heart, simplicity of life. 
And elegance, and taste ; the faultless form, 
Shaped by the hand of harmony ; the cheek. 
Where the live crimson, through the native white 
Soft shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom, ^ 1585 

And ef ery nameless grace ; the parted hp. 
Like the red rosebud moist with morning dew. 
Breathing delight ; and, under flowing jet, 
Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown. 
The neck slight shaded, and the swelling breast : 1590 

The look resistless, piercing to the soul. 

And by the soul inform'd, when dress'd in love 

She sits high smiling in the conscious eye. 
Island of bliss ! amid the subject seas. 

That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up, 1595 

At once the wonder, terror, and delight 

Of distant nations ; whose remotest shores 

Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm ; 

Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults 

Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea- wave. 1600 

THE SAVING VIRTUES OF A COUNTRY. 

Thou ! by whose Almighty nod the scale 
Of empire rises, or alternate falls. 
Send forth the saving virtues round the land, 
In bright patrol : white peace, and social love ; 
The tender-looking charity, intent 1605 

On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles ; 
Undaunted truth, and dignity of mind ; 

and in a language, comparatively barbarous. His diction, compared with 
the superior cultivation of more recent times, is rude and obscure. 



SUMMER. 185 

Courage composed and keen; sound temperance, 

Healthful in heart and looks ; clear chastity, 

With blushes reddening as she moves along, 1610 

Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws ; 

Hough industry ; activity untired, 

With copious life inform 'd, and all awake : 

While in the radiant front, superior shines 

That first paternal virtue, public zeal, 1613 

Which throws o'er all an equal wide survey. 

And, ever musing on the commonweal, 

Still labors jjflorious with some gfreat desi^cn. 

SUKSET. 

Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees, 
Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds 1620 

Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train. 
In all their pomp attend his netting throne. 
Air, earth, and ocean smile immense. And now. 
As if his weary chariot sought the bowers 
Of Amphitrite and her tending nymphs, 1625 

(So Grecian fable sung), he dips his orb ; 
Now half immersed ; and now a golden curve 
Gives one bright glance, then total disappears. 

Forever running an enchanted round. 
Passes the day, deceitful, vain, an-d void; 1630 

As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, 
This moment hurrying wild th' impassion'd soul. 
The next in nothino- lost. 'Tis so to him. 
The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank : 
A sight of horror to the cruel wretch, 1633 

Who, all day long, in sordid pleasure roll'd. 



1613. Iv formed: Inspired. 

1625. Awphilrite : The fabled wife of Neptune, god of the ocean. 



I8r> SUMMER. 

Himself a useless load, has squander'd vile, 

Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheer'd 

A drooping family of modest worth. 

But to the generous, still improving mind, 1640 

That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy, 

Diffusing kind benelicence around, 

Boastless as now descends the silent dew ; 

To him the long review of order'd life 

Is inward rapture, only to be felt. 1645 

SUMMER EVENING. 

Confess'd from yonder, slow-extinguish'd clouds, 
All ether softening, sober evening takes 
Her wonted station in the middle air; 
A thousand shadows at her beck. First this 
She sends on earth ; then that of deeper dye 1650 

Steals soft behind ; and then a deeper -still. 
In circle following circle, gathers round, 
To close the face of things. A fresher gale 
Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, 
Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn ; 1655 

While the quail clamors for his running mate. 
Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, 
A whitening shower of vegetable down 
Amusive floats. The kind, impartial care 
Of Nature naught disdains. Thoughtful to feed 1660 

Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year. 
From field to field the feather'd seed she wings. 

His folded flock secure, the shepherd home 
Hies merry-hearted ; and by turns relieves 
The ruddy milkmaid of her brimming pail ; 1665 

The beauty, whom perhaps his witless heart, 
Unkiipwing what the joy-mix'd anguish means. 
Sincerely loves, by that best language shown 



SUMMER. 137 

Of coidial glances and obliging deeds. 
On\yaid they pass o'er many a panting height, 1670 

And valley sunk, and xmfiequented ; where 
At fall of eve the fairy people throng. 
In various game, and revelry, to pass 
The summer ni";ht, as villaore stories tell. 
But far about they wander from the grave 1675 

Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urged 
Ao^ainst his own sad breast to lift the hand 
^ Of impious violence^ y The lonely tower 
Is also shunn'd, whose mournful chambers hold, 
So night-struck fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. 1680 

THE NIGfHT-SCENE METEORS AND COMETS. 

Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, 
The glow-worm lights his gem ; and through the dark 

1672. Fairy people: Fairies are imaginary beings, who occupied a 
distinguished place in the traditional superstitions of the nations of 
Western Europe,, and especially in the British Islands. The British 
furies, although they have sometliing in common with the Dwergas, or 
Gnomes, of the Scandinavian mythology, are not identical with them. 
Tiiey are, in fact, peculiar to people of Celtic race ; but the popular be- 
lief was nowhere invested with so poetical a character as in the Lowlands 
of Scotland, where it forms a main ingredient in the beautiful ballad 
poetry of the district. The- fairies of the Scottish and English mythology 
are diminutive beings, who render themselves occasionally visible to 
men, especially in exposed places, on the sides of hills or in the glades 
of forests, which it is their custom to frequent. They have also dealings 
with, men, but of an uncertain and unreal character. Their presents are 
sometimes valuable ; but generally accompanied, in that case, with some 
condition or peculiarity which renders them mischievoas : more often 
they are unsubstantial, and turn into dirt or ashes in the hands of those 
to whom they have been given. Mortals have occasionally been trans- 
ported into Fairy-land, and have found that all its apparent splendor 
was equally delusive. One of the most ordinary eniployments of fairies, 
\n vulgar superstition, is that of stealing children at nurse, and substi- 
tuting their own offspring in place of them, which after a short time per- 
ish, or are carried away. — Brande. 

1682. Glow-ioorm : The body of these insects is very soft, and espo- 



188 sum.m::k. 

A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields 

The world to night ; not in her winter robe 

Of massy Stygian woof, but loose array 'd 1685 

In mantle dun. A faint, erroneous ray, 

Glanced from th' imperfect surfaces of things. 

Flings half an image on the straining eye ; 

While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, 

And rocks, and mountain- tops, that long retained 1690 

Th' ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene. 

Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to heaven 

Thence weary vision turns ; where, leading soft 

The silent hours of love, with purest ray 

Sweet Venus shines ; and from her genial rise, 1695 

When daylight sickens, till it springs afresh, 

Unrivall'd reigns, the fairest lamp of night. 

As thus th' effulgence tremulous I drink. 

With cherish'd gaze, the lambent lightnings shoot 



cially the abdomen ; and it is from the last two or three segments of 
this part of the body that the phosphorescent hght, for which they are so 
remarkable, is emitted. Its intensity is evidently dependent, in a great 
degree, upon the state of the animal : if tlie insect be irritated, it is in- 
creased ; but if its powers are depressed or exhausted, it is lessened. In 
the glow-worm (noctiluca), it is only the female that is luminous ; and 
she is destitute of wings and elytra, which the male possesses. They 
are only active by night ; and as the male is known to be attracted, like 
moths, by lights in houses, it is probable that the phosphorescence of the 
female is given for the purpose of signalizing her position to him. — 
Chambers. 

1685. Stygian woof: Dark, gloomy texture, resembling in color tlie fa- 
bled river Styx in Arcadia, whose waters were made black by Ceres. 

1699. Lambent lightnings: The Northern Lights — Aurora Borealis. 
The terror awakened by these in the breasts of the superstitious is 
more fully described in Autumn, 1107-1130. ' Some (says Dick) protend 
to see, in these harmless lights, armies mixing in tierce encounter, and 
fields streaming with blood ; others behold states overthrown, earth- 
quakes, inundations, pestilences, and the most dreadful calamities. Be- 
cause some one or other of these calamities formerly happened soon after 
the appearance of a comet, oi the blaze of an aurora, therefore they *iXQ 
considered either as the causes or the prognostics of such events I 



SUMMKR. 189 

Acrosa rue sky, or horizontal dart 1700 

In wondrous shapes ; by fearful murmuring crowds 

Portentous deem'd. Amid the radiant orbs, 

That more than deck, that animate the sky, 

The life-infusing suns of other worlds ; 

Lo ! from the dread immensity of space 1*705 

Returning, with accelerated course, 

The rushing comet to the sun descends ; 

And, as he sinks below the shading earth. 

With awful train projected o'er the heavens. 

The guilty nations tremble. But, above 1710 

Those superstitious horrors that enslave 

The fond sequacious herd, to mystic faitli 

And blind amazement prone, th' enlighten'd few, 

Whose godlike minds Philosophy exalts. 

The glorious stranger hail. They feel a joy I7l5 

Divinely great ; they in their powers exult. 

That wondrous force of thought, which mounting spurns 

This dusky spot, and measures all the sky ; 

While, from his far excursion through the wilds 



1707-1715. Bushing comet, &c.: Nothing in Astronomy (says Prof. Olra- 
Bted) is more truly admirable than the knowledge which astronomers 
acquired of the motions of comets, and the power they have gained of 
predicting their return. Indeed, every thing appertaining to this class 
of bodies is so wonderful as to seem rather a tale «f romance than a 
simple recital of facts. Comets are truly the knights-errant of Astrono- 
my. Appearing suddenly in the nocturnal sky, and often dragging after 
them a train of terrific aspect, they were, in the earlier ages of the world, 
and indeed until a recent period, considered as peculiarly ominous of tho 
wrath of Heaven, and as harbingers of wars and famines, of the dethrone- 
ment of monarchs, and the dissolution of empires. Science has, it is true, 
disarmed them of their terrors, and demonstrated that they are under 
the guidance of the same Hand that directs in their courses the other 
members of the Bolar system ; but she has, at the same time, arrayed 
them in a garb of majesty peculiarly her own. 

1715-1723. The sublime emotions excited upon an intelligent survey 
of the comet's course and other celestial phenomena are here finely con- 
trasted with the unfounded apprehensions and superstitious horrora of 



190 sdmmi:e. 

Of barren ether, faithful to his time, 1*720 

They see the blazing wonder ri.-se anew, 
In seeming terror clad, but kindly bent 
To work the Avill of all -sustaining- Love : 

"the fond sequacious herd" — the ignorant multitude that eagerly follow 
the dictation of theii superiors, and are prone to a " mystic faith" and 
" blind amazement." 

This point is well illustrated by the following incident, related by Dr. 
Thomas Dick : — When the splendid comet of 145(5 appeared (supposed 
to be the same as Halley's comet), its tail extended at one time more 
than sixty degrees. Three days before its perihelion, its nucleus was as 
bright as a fixed star, its tail of the color of gold, and it appears to have 
exhibited coruscations. Pope Calixtus, believing it to be at once the sign 
and instrument of Divine wrath, was so frightened at its appearance that 
he ordered public prayers to be offered up in every toAvn, and the bells 
to be tolled at the noon of each day, to warn the people to supplicate the 
mercy of Heaven. He at the same time excommunicated both the comet 
and the Turks, whose arms had lately proved victorious agajnst the Chris- 
tians, and established the custom, which still exists in Catholic countries, 
of ringing the church bells at noon. In modern times certain natural ef- 
fects have likewise been attributed to the influence of comets ; such as 
tempests, hurricanes, volcanic eruptions, cold or hot seasons, overflowings 
of rivers, dense clouds of flies or locusts, the plague, the cholera, and other 
disorders. 

The benevolent purposes supposed to be accomplished by this class of 
the heavenly bodies, are merely matters of conjecture, and Thomson 
presents them in that light. There can be no question (observes the au- 
thor last quoted) that comets are as intimately connected with a system 
of benevolence as are the solar radiations, and their benign influence on 
our globe and on the other planets. It has been conjectured that comets 
may supply moisture to the other planets, and invigorate the vital prin- 
ciple of our atmosphere ; that they may recruit the sun with fresh fuel, 
and repair the consumption of his light ; or that they may be the agents 
for dispersing the electric fluid through tiie planetary regions ; and al- 
though there is little probabihty that such conjectures are accordant witli 
fact, yet it may be admitted that comets may produce a physical influ- 
ence of a beneficial nature throughout the solar system. But what I 
conceive to be one of the main designs of the Creator in the formation of 
such a vast number of splendid bodies, is, that they may serve as habita- 
tions for myriads of intellectual beings, to whom the Almighty displays 
his perfections in a peculiar mant er, and on whom lie bestows the riches 
of his beneficence. If this position be admitted, then we ought to con- 
template the approach of a comet, not as an object of terror or a harbin- 



SILMMKR. 



191 



From Ills huge vapory train perhaps to shake 

Reviving moisture on the numeVous orbs, 1725 

Through which his long ellipsis winds ; perhaps 

To lend new fuel to declining suns, 

To light up worlds, and feed th' eternal fire. 

EULOGIUM ON PHILOSOPnY. 

With thee, serene Philosophy, with thee, 
And thy bright garland, let me crown my song ! lYSO 

Effusive source of evidence and truth ! 
A lustre shedding o'er th' ennobled mind, 
-■- Stronger than summer noon ; and pure as that, 
Whose mild vibrations soothe the parted soul, 
New to the dawning of celestial day. 1735 

Hence through her nourish'd powers, enlarged by thee. 
She springs aloft with elevated pride, 
Above the tangling mass of low desires, lial-t u-i^; 
That bind the fluttering crowd ; and, angel- wing'd, 
The heights of science and of virtue gains 1740 

(Where all is calm and clear), with nature round, 
Or in the starry regions, or th' abyss, 

ger of evil, but, as a splendid world, of a different construction from outs, 
conveying millions of happy beings to survey a new region of the Divine 
empire, and to contemplate new scenes of creating power. 

The whole subject of comets — their influence on the earth, their inhab- 
itability, and their probable design — is ingeniously and fully treated in 
Dick's " Sidereal Heavens." 

1735. New, <fec. : Unaccustomed to the dawning, &c. 

1742. Abyfis : It is not clear in what sense Thomson uses this term. It 
is evidently placed in contrast with the starry regions, and therefore pro]> 
ably denotes the depths of the earth — all beneath the -surface of the 
ocean or land that admits of investigation and of exploration. In Scrij^ 
lure the term abyss denotes the waters that originally surrounded tliv 
earth, when it was " without form and void." 

The vast iraraeaanrable abyss, 
Outrageous as a sea, darl;, wasteful, wild.— Milton. 



192 SUAfMl^R. 

To Reason's and to Fancy's eye display'd : 
The first up tracing,' from the dreary void, 
The chain of causes and effects to Him, 1745 

The world-producing Essence, Who alone 
Possesses being ; while the last receives 
The whole magnificence of heaven and earth, 
And every beauty, delicate or bold. 

Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense, * 1750 

■ Diffusive painted on the rapid mind. 

Tutor'd by thee, hence Poetry exalts 
Her voice to ages ; and informs the page 
With music, image, sentiment, and thought, 
Never to die ! the treasure of mankind ! 1756 

Their highest honor, and their truest joy ! 

Without thee, what were unenlighten'd man ? 
A savage roaming through the woods and wilds, 
In quest of prey ; and with the unfashion'd fur 
Rough clad ; devoid of every finer art 1760 

And elegance of life. Nor happiness 
Domestic, mix'd of tenderness and care. 
Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss. 
Nor guardian law were his ; nor various skill 
To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool 1765 

Mechanic ; nor the heaven-conducted prow 
Of navigation bold, that fearless braves 
The burning line or dares the wintry pole ; 
Mother severe of infinite delights ! 

Nothing, save rapine, mdolence, and guile, 1770 

And woes on woes, a still revolving train ! 
Whose horrid circle had made human life 



744. The first : (Reason's eye) tracing from the dreary void, from re- 
^ona of space where nothing exists, <fec. 

1747. While the last (Fancy's eye), &c. 

1768. The burning line : The equinoctial, where the sun pours dowix 
Its vertical and hotf est rays. 



RUMMKIl, 



193 



Than non-existence worse. But, taught by thee. 

Ours are the plans of policy and peace ; 

To live like brothers, and, conjunotive all, 1Y75 

'Embellish life. While thus laborious crowds 

Ply the tough oar, Philosophy directs 

The ruling helm ; or like the liberal breath 

Of potent heaven, invisible, the sail 

Swells out, and bears th' inferior world along. IY8O 

Nor to this evanescent ^eck of earth 

Poorly confined ; the radiant tracts on high 

Are her exalted range, intent to gaze 

Creation through, and, from that full complex 

Of never-ending wonders, to conceive 1785 

Of the Sole Being right, who spoke the word. 

And Nature moved complete. With inward view, 

Thence on th' ideal kingdom swift she turns 

Her eye ; and instant, at her pov/erful glance, 

Th' obedient phantoms vanish or appear ; 1790 

Compound, divide, and into order shift. 

Each to his rank, from plain perception up 

To the fair forms of fancy's fleeting train : - ' 

To reason then, deducing truth from truth. 

And notion quite abstract ; where first begins 1795 

The world of spirits, action all, and life 

Unfetter'd and unmix'd. But here the cloud 

(So wills Eternal Providence) sits deep : • ^ 

Enough for us to know that this dark state, 

In wayward passions lost and vain pursuits, 1800 

This infancy of being cannot prove 

The final issue of the works of God, 

By boundless Love and perfect Wisdom form'd, 

And ever rising with the rising mind. 

1730. Inferior world: The connection shows that a ship is here intend 
ed. The expression is very appropriate and yet original. 

9 



^ (yjiry RjflRo 



AUTUMN. 



IN rEODUCTOKY EEMAEKS. 

Autumn is too e\entful a period in the history of the year 
within the temperate parts of the globe, to require foreign aid 
for rendering it more varied cy;^d interesting. The promise of 
the Spring is now fulfilled. The silent and gradual process of 
maturation is completed ; and Human Industry beholds with 
triumph the rich products of its toil. The vegetable tribes 
disclose their infinitely varied forms oi fruit ; which term, while, 
with respect to common use, it is confined to a few peculiar 
modes of fructification, in the' more comprehensive language of 
the naturalist, includes every product of vegetation by which 
the rudiments of a future progeny are developed and separated 
from the parent plant. These are in part collected and stored 
up by those animals for whose sustenance, during the ensuing 
sleep of winter, they are provided. The rest, furnished with 
various contrivances for dissemination, are scattered, by the 
fjiendly winds which now begin to blow, over the surface of 
that earth which they are to clothe and decorate. The young 
of the animal i-ace, which Spring and Summer had brought 
forili and cherished, having now acquired sufficient vigor, quit 
their concealments and offer themselves to the pursuit of the 
carnivorous amons: their fellow-animals, and of the o-reat de- 
stroyer man. 

Thus the scenery is enlivened with the various sports of the 
hunter; which, liowcver repugnant they may appear to that 
system of gen "".ral benevolence and sympathy which philosophy 



.93 AUTCilX INTIiODUCTOKY EKMAEKS. « 

would inculcate, have ever afforded a most agreeable exertion 
to the human powers, and have much to plead in their favor 
as a necessary part of the great plan of Nature. Indeed, she 
marks her intention with sufficient precision by refusing to 
grant any longer those friendly shades which had grown for 
the protection of the infant offspring. The grove loses its 
honors; but before they are entirely tarnished an adventitious 
beauty, arising from that gradual decay which loosens the wither- 
ing leaf, gilds the Autumnal landscape with a temporary splendor 
superior to the verdure of Spring or the luxuriance of Summer. 
The infinitely various and ever- n hanging hues of the leaves at 
this season, melting into every soft gradation of tint and shade, 
have long engaged the imitation of the painter, and are equally 
happy ornaments in the description of the poet. 

These unvarying symptoms of approaching Winter now 
warn several of the winged tribes to prepare for their aerial 
voyage to those happy climates of perpetual summer, where no 
deficiency of food or shelter can ever distress them ; and about 
the same time other fowls of hardier constitution, which are 
contented with escaping the iron winters of the ai'ctic regions, 
arrive to supply the vacanc}^. Thus the striking scenes afforded 
by that wonderful part of the economy of Nature, the migra- 
tion of birds, present themselves at this season to the poet. 
^J'he thickenins: fo2fs, the heavy rains, the swollen rivers, while 
they deform the sinking period of the year, add new subjects 
to the pleasing variety which reigns throughout its whole course, 
and which justifies the poet's character of it, as the season when 
the Muse " best exerts her voice." 

AlKIN. 



QlMtwmtx. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Tk« wbjfcot propos<-d. — Addressed to Mr. Onslow. — A prospect of the fields ready Ibr 
L^.v^^ —Reflections in praise of industry raised by that view. — Reaping. — A tal« 
relative to it — A harvest storm. — Shooting and hunting, their barbarity. — A ludicroua 
account of fox-hunting. — A view of an orchard. — Wall-fruit — A vineyard. — A descrip- 
tion of fogs, frequent in the latter part of Autumn: whence a digression, inquiring 
into the rise cf fountains and rivers^ — Birds of season considered, that now shift their 
habitation.— The prodigious number of them that cover the northern and western 
isles of Scotland. — Hence a view of the country. — A prospect of tiie discolored, fading 
woods. — After a gentle dusky day, moonlight — Autumnal meteors. —Morning; to 
which succeeds a calm, pure, sunshiny day, such as usually shuts up tiie season. — The 
harvest being gathered in, the country is dissolved in joy.— The whole concludes with 
a panegyric on a philosophical country life. 



Crown'd witk the sickle and the wheaten sheaf. 
While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, 
Comes jovial on ; the Doric reed once more. 
Well pleased, I tune. W^hate'er the Wintry frost 

1-3. Crowned, <fec. : The impersonation here is complete (I quote the 
language of Prof. Wilson), anJ though the sex of Autumn is not men- 
tioned, it is manifestly meant to be male. So far there is nothing araisa 
either one way or another. But "nodding o'er the yellow plain" is a 
mere statement of a fact in nature, and descriptive of the growing and 
ripening or ripened harvest ; whereas it is applied here to Autumn as a 
figure who " comes jovial on." This is not obscurity, or indistinctness — 
which is often a great beauty in im]^>ersonation — but it is an inconsistency 
and a contradiction, and thereiore indeien&ible on any ground either of 
conception or expression. 

3, 4. lite Dyic reed once more I tune : A poetic way of saying that ho 



200 AUTUM.N^ 

Nitrous piepared; the various blossom'd Spring 6 

Put in white promise forth ; and Summer-suns 
Concocted strong-, rush boundless now to view^ 
Full, perfect ail, and swell my glorious theme. 

was now beginning another poem — that he was about to describe in verse 
the operations and plienomena of tlie Autumn. The reed or flute was an 
instrument used by the Muses at Mount Parnassus in Greece, near which 
mount the small district of Doris was situated. The once more will be 
understood when it is stated that Autumn was the last of the "Seasons" 
in the order of their composition and publication. 

The subject of this note derives a happy illustration from the history of 
music and its relation to poetry. In the language of Dr. Blair : — " The 
first poets sang their own verses ; and hence the beginning of what we call 
versification, or words arranged in a more artful order than prose,- so as to 
be suited to some tuue or melody. The music of that early period was, 
beyond doubt, extremely simple ; and must have consisted chiefly of such 
pathetic notes as tlie voice could adapt to the words of the song. Musical 
instruments, such as flutes, and pipes, and^ lyi'^' °^* harp, with a very few 
strings, appear to have been early invented among some nations ; but no 
more was intended by these instruments than simply to accompany the 
voice and heighten the melody of song. The poet's strain was always 
heard ; and from many circumstances it appears that among the ancient 
Greeks, as well as among other nations, the bard sung his verses, and 
played upon his liarp at tlie same time. In this state the art of nuisic 
was when it produced all those great effects of which we read so much in 
ancient history." 

6. Nitrous prepared : It is diflicult to say what Jliomson meant by this 
expression, as it cannot be supposed that in his day the existence of nitro- 
gen in snow (as an element of ammonia) was known, and which serves a 
valuable purpose in the economy of vegetation. To this probably a re- 
cent author refers when he remarks with reference to the effects of snow 
on the soil, that " the nitrous particles which it contains are said to be of 
a fertilizing quality, and as it gradually melts, these particles penetrate 
the earth, being carried to the roots of the plants, mingled with the water 
into which it is converted." In Thomson's day chemistry was, as a science, 
yet in its infancy. The terms nitre and nitrous were often used in a 
vague sense for saline substances and saline properties. The frost, or 
enow the product of frost, was then supposed, from its fertilizing influeyce, 
to incorporate some of these qualities. Thus Sturm speaks of the saline 
particles which float in the air, and by uniting with the snow, occasion it to 
crystallize into flakes of regular. form. Perhaps Thomson only speaks of 
frost as resembhng nitre in its appearance : Whatever the wintry frost 
nitrous (having the aspect of nitre) prepared. 



AUTUMN. 201 

Onslow ! tV.e Muse, ambitious of thv name, 
To grace, inspire, and dignif}' lier song, 10 

Would from the public voice thy gentle ear 
Awhile engage. Thy noble care she knows, 
Th« patriot virtues that distend thy thought, ' 
Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow ; 
While listening senates hang upon thy tongue, 15 

Devolving through the maze of eloquence, 
A roll of periods sweeter than her song. 
But she too pants for public virtue ; she, 
Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will, 
Whene'er her country rushes on her heart, 20 

Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries 
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame. 

9. Oixslow: To this same then distinguished gentleman, Dr. Young 
dedicated the first of the " Night Thoughts." If the following lines con- 
tain no more than a just tribute, we can see a iitness in dedicating the 
poem to him. 

21. Tomlx,&c.; Thomson gave utterance to his patriotic sentiments 
most fully and distinctly in his poem, " Britannia," which was de^>ig^ed 
and adapted to rouse the nation to revenge the interruptions of their 
trade by the Spaniards in America ; and in another and more eluborate 
poem, entitled " Liberty," which was published after an extensive tour on 
the continent with the Honorable Charles Talbot, en whom he attended, 
much to the advantage of the poet in the enlargement of his views of 
men and things, and in the cultivation of his taste. Two years were, 
after his return to England, bestowed upon the composition of this liis 
most favorite poem, and one from which he anticipated the largest re- 
muneration of every kind : but he suffered in this expectation a most 
milooked-for and bitter disappointment. It has never been popular — 
"No man," as one remarks, "was animated by a stronger or more disin- 
terested love of public freedom than Thomson, and he everywhere incul- 
cates patriotic sentiments ; but his ' Liberty' neither stimulates our 
patriotism, nor increases our veneration for liis idol." 

The sanie writer accounts for this result as follows: — "To the power of 
painting scenery and delineating the softer and more pleasing traits of 
character, Thomson's genius seems to have been confined ; but he was 
incapable of describing the heart when assailed by boisterous passions, 
and his representations of ambition, patriotism, or revenge, are compara- 
tively feeble." 

0^ 



202 AUTUMN. 



FIELDS READY FOR HARVEST. 

When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, 
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year ; 
From heaven's high cope the fi'^rce effulgence shook 25 
Of parting Summer, a serener bhig, 
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests 
The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise, 
Sweet beam'd, and shedding oft* through lucid clouds 
A pleasing calm ; while broad, and brown, below 30 

Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. 
Rich, silent, deep, they stand ; for not a gale 
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain ; 
A calm of plenty ! till the ruffled air 

Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 36 

Rent is the lieecy mantle of the sky ; 
The clouds fly different, and the sudden sun 
By fits effulgent gilds th' illumined field. 
And black by fits the shadows sweep along : 
A gayly checker'd, heart-expanding view, 40 

Far as the circling eye can shoot around. 
Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. 



23, 24. The bright Virgin is the constellation Virgo, the sixth from 
Aries ; the sun enters it on the 22d of August. The epithet bright may 
De applied to it either from the star Spica of the first magnitude which it 
contains, or from the brightness of the sun's rays at that period. Libra, 
the Balance, is the seventh from Aries, and is so called because the astro- 
nomical year, commencing with Aries, is then haJf accomplished. This is 
the poet's idea ; but a better reason for the name is the fact that when 
the sun enters this sign the days and nights are equal over the globe. 

25. Cope : Arch or concave of the sky. 

26-42. While Summer is retiring, amid rain and fire, Autumn has 
already appeared : with a matron-like grace she takes tlie vacant throne, 
and, " crowned with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf,' begins her reign. 
The air is calm and tlie fields are ripe. — C. 

Corn is used by Britii^h writers in a larger sense than witli us — to indi- 
cate all the various kinds of grain. 



AITUMN. . 203 

rilE MANIFOLD BLESSINGS OF INDUSTRY, AND THE I'liOORESS OF 
SOCIETY. 

These are th}'- blessings, Industry ! rough power ! 
Whom labor still attends, and sweat, and pain ; 
Yet the kind soui;T;e^of every gentle art, 45 

And all the soft civility of life : 
Raiser of humankind ! by Nature cast. 
Naked and helpless, out amid the woods 
And wilds, to rude inclement elements ; 
With various seeds of art deep in the mind 50 

Implanted, and profusely poured around 
Materials infinite ; but idle all. 
Still unexerted, in th' unconscious breast, 
Slept the lethargic powers : corruption still, 
Voracious, swallow'd what the liberal hand 55 

Of bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year ; 
And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd 
With beasts of prey ; or, for his acorn-meal, 
Fought the fierce tusky boar : a shivering wretch, 
Aghast and comfortless, when the bleak north, 60 

With Winter charged, let the mix'd tempest fly, 
Hail, rain, and snow, and bitter-breathing frost. 
Then to the shelter of the hut he fled, 
And the wild season, sordid, pined away. 
For home he had not : home is the resort 65 



65, 66. fforne is the reaort, &,c. : The description here given of home is 
beautiful — honorable alike to the genius, the taste, and social training of 
the poet. He had been favored in early life with a pious, intelligent, and 
happy home ; but the death of his excellent fatlier, when the young poet 
was yet at the University in Edinburgh, and the necessity, arising out of 
the slender circumstances of the family, of undertaking to support himself 
by the ^ffoits of his genius, directed his steps, at the age of twenty-five, 
to London, in the hope of there acquiring fame as well as subsistence. 
His mother, it is said, Avas a person of uncommon natural cndowiuents,, 
possessed of every s<,>cial and domestic virtue, and gifted moreover with 



204 . lUTUMN. 

Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where. 

Supporting and supported, polisb'd friends 

And dear relations mingle into bliss. 

But this the rii^q-ed savasfe never felt,' 

E'en desolate in crowds ; and thus his days 70 

Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along ; 

A. waste of time ! till Industry approach'd. 

And roused him from his miserable sloth ; 

His faculties unfolded ; pointed out 

Where lavish Nature the directing hand 75 

Of art demanded ; show'd him how to raise 

His feeble force by the mechanic powers. 

To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth ; 

an imagination scarcely inferior, in vivacity and warmth, to her son's. To 
bis parents he was largely indebted for a religions education, the advan- 
tage of which shines forth with great beauty in his poems. With many 
tears he left his affectionate mother in 1725, in setting out for London; 
and upon the occasion of lier death, which soon after occurred, he prepared 
& touching elegy, in which he commeniorates his pain at parting witli her. 
A part of this elegy, as an illustration of his strong filial and home attach 
ment, I will introduce : 

Still, still! is she my soiiFs divinest theme. 
The waking vision, and the wailing dream: 
Amid tlie ruddy sun's enlivening blaze 
O'er my dark eyes her dewy imase plays, 
And in the dread dominion of the night 
Shines out again the sadly pleasing sight. 

* * * * 

But ah ! that night — ^that torturing night remains: — 
May darkness dye it with its deepest stains. 
When on the margin of the briny flood 
Chill'd with a sad presaging damp I stood, 
Took tlie last look, ne'er to behold her mo-re, 
And mixed our murmur-s with tli^e wavy roar, 
% Heard the last words foil from her pious tcngue. 

Then, wild into the bulging vessel flung, 
Which soon, too soon conveyed me from her sight, 
Pearer than life, and liberty, and light I 

Though it does not appear from the biograpliical accounts of Thomson 
that he ever returned to Scotland, even to make a visit, which may 
awaken surprise, yet there is abundant evidence that he did not forget 
his needy sisters, but occasionally v/rote to them and made- reraittaiices 
mt their support and comfort. 



AUTl'MN. 



205 



80 



85 a 



On what to turn the piercing ragt; of fire ; 

On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast; 

Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe • 

Tanght him to chip the wood, uid hew the stone, 

lill by degrees the finish'd f^ibric rose ; 

Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted'fur, 

And Avrapp'd tliem in the woolly vestment warm 

Or bright in glossy silk and flowing -lawn • 

With wholesome viands fill'd his table; pour'd 

The generous glass around, inspired to wake 

The hfe-relining soul of decent wit : 

^ov stopp'd at barren bare necessity ; g^^ 

But still advancing bolder, led him on 

To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace • 

And, breathing high ambition through his 'soul 

feet science, wisdom, glory, in his view. 

And bade him be the lord of all below! 95 

Then gathering men their natural powers combined. 
And form d a Public ; to the general good 
Submitting, aiming, and conducting all. 
For this"the patriot council met, th°e full. 
The free, and fairly represented whole ; ' IOC 

For this -they plann'd the holy guardian laws 
Distinguish'd orders, animated arts, 
And with joint force, oppression chaining, set 
Imperial Justice at the helm ; .yet still 
To them accountable : nor, slavish, dream'd 105 

That toiling millions must resign their weal 
And all the honey of their search, to such ' 
Al^ov themselves alone themselves have raised. 

Hence, every form of cultivated life. 
In order set, protected, and inspired, ' UO 

Into perfection wrmiglit. Uniting all. 
Society grew numerous, high, polite, ' 
And happy. Nurse of ait! the city rear'd 



2Ut) . AUTUMN. 

In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head ; 

And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew, 115 

From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew 

To bows stroHg-straining, her aspiring sons. 

Then commerce brought into the public walk 
The busy merchant ; the big warehouse built ; 
Raised the strong crane ; choked up the loaded street 120 
With foreign plenty ; and thy stream, Thames, 
Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods ! 
Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, 
Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts 
Shot up their spires ; the bellying sheet between 125 

Possess'd the breezy void ; the sooty hulk 
Steer'd sluggish on ; the splendid barge along* 
Row'd, regular to harmony ; around, 
The boat, light skimming, stretch'd its oary wings ; 
While deep the various voice of fervent toil 130 

From bank to bank increased : whence ribb'd with oak, 
To bear the British thunder, black and bold, 
The roaring vessel rush'd into the main. 

Then too the pillar' d dome, magnific, heaved 
Its ample roof; and luxury within 135 

Pour'd out her glittering stores. The canvas smooth, 
With glowmg life protuberant, to the view 
Embodied rose ; the statue seem'd to breathe, 
And soften into flesh, beneath the touch 
Of forming art, imagination-flush'd. 140 

All is the gift of Industry ; whatever 
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life 

116. Yew: An evergreen of the pine genus, furnishing valuable tincber 
ti'T ships, and used by the yeomanry of England in former times for 
making hows of great power and effect. The strong-strainiv g effort in 
bending them for tliis purpose is indicated in the text. 

141-3. While the sickle is moving, and the yellow grain falling, Com- 
merce crowds the Thames with a grove of masts : Art, on its banks*, 
makes the " pillared domes" ari.-te, the smooth canvas glow with life^ and 



AUTUMN. 207 

Delightful. Pensive Winter cheer'd by him. 

Sits at the social fire, and happy hears 

Th* excluded tempest idly rave along. 145 

His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring. 

Without him, Summer were an arid waste ; 

Nor to th' Autumnal months could thus transmit 

Those full, mature, immeasurable stores. 

That waving round, recall my wandering song. 150 

REAPING. 

Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky. 
And, unperceived, unfolds the spreading day, 
Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, 
In fair array ; each by the lass he loves. 
To bear the rougher part, and mitigate 155 

By nameless gentle offices her toil. 
At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves ; 
While through their cheerful band the rural talk. 
The rural scandal, and the rural jest. 

Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious -time, 160 

And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. 
Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks ; 
And, conscious, glancing oft on every side 
His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. 
The gleaners spread around, and here and there, 165 

Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick. 
Be not too narrow, husbandmen ! but flinix 



tlie s tue sfiem to breathe and soften into flesh. The poet imputes this 
to tlK riyjjit cause. — C. 

16'i -176. Be not, &c.: The benevolence of the poet here construct? a 
most eloquent appeal, wliich may be easily and usefully directed to other 
classes of the poor. A similar appeal is made in 3o0-ii59. 

Dr. Murdocli, in his biography of Tliomson, says r —As for his more dis- 
tinguisliing qualities of mind and lieart, they aie better represented in 
his writings than they can be by the pen of any biograplier There, hia 



20S AUTur^rx. 

From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth. 

The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think ! . 

How good the God of Harvest is to you, lYflr 

JVho pours abundance o'er your flowing fields ; 

While these unhappy partners of your kind 

Wide hover round you, like the fowls of heaven. 

And ask their humble dole. The various turns 

Of fortune ponder ; that your sons may want 175 

What now, with hard reluctance, faint ye give. 

LAVINIA AND PALEMON. 

The lovely young Lavinia once had friends ; 
And fortune smiled, deceitful, on her birth : 
For, in her helpless years deprived of all. 
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven, 1 80 

She, with her widow'd' mother, feeble, old. 
And poor, lived in a cottage, far retired 
Among the windings of a woody vale ; 
By solitude and deep surrounding shades. 
But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd. 185 

Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn. 
Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet 
From giddy passion and low-minded pride : 
Almost on Nature's common bounty fedj^ 
Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, 190 

Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. 

love of mankind, of his country and friends, his devotion to the Supreme 
Being, founded on the most elevated and just conceptions of his opera- 
tions and providence, shine out in every page. So unbounded was his 
tenderness of heart, that it took in even the brute creation : judge what 
it must have been towards his own species. He is not hideed known, 
througli his whole life, to have given any person one moment's pain, by 
Jiis writings or otherwise. 

177. This story is introduced by way of illustrating and enforcing tha 
beautiful appeal co itained in the last paragraph". 



AUT-.MN. 209 

Her form wa;^ fresher than the niornn>^ rose, 
When the dew wets its leaves ; imstaiti'd and pure, 
As is the hly or the mountain snow. 

The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, 195 

Still on the ground dejected, darting all 
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers : 
Or, when the mournful tale her mother told, 
Of what her faithless fortune promised once, 
Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star 200 

Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace 
Sat fair proportion'd on her polish'd limbs, 
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, 
* Beyond the pomp of dress ; for lovehness 
jS'eeds not the foreign aid of ornament, 205 

But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. 
Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self. 
Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. 
As in the hollow breast of Apennine, 
Beneath the shelter of encirclino- hills, 2)'> 



?OT-21*7. The history of the composition of this passage is thus relr.teO 
by Chambers : — One of the finest and most picturesque similes in the 
work was supplied by Pope, to whom Thomson had given an interleaved 
copy of the edition of 1786. The quotation will not be out of place here, 
as it is honorable to the friendship of the brother poets, aufl tends to 
show the importance of careful revision, without which no excellence can 
be attained in literature or the arts. How deeply must it be regretted 
that Pope did not oftener write in blank verse ! Describing Lavinia, the 
lines were — 

Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self, 
. Eecluse among the woods ; if city dames 
Will deign their faith ; and thus she went, compeU'd 
By strong necessity, with as serene 
And pleased a look as Patience e'er put on, 
To glean Palemon's fields. 

Pope drew his pen through this description, and supplied the following 
hnes (those of the present text), which Thomson, must have been too 
much gratified with not to adopt with priile and pleasure — and so they 
Btand in all the subsequent editions. 



210 AUTUMN. 

A myrtle rises, far from human eye, 

And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild ; 

So tlourish'd, blooming and unseen by all, 

The sweet Lavinia ; till, at length, compell'd 

By strong necessity's supreme command, 2^5 

With smiling patience in her looks, she went 

To glean Paiemon's fields. The pride of swains 

Palemon was, the generous and the rich ; 

"Who led the rural life in all its joy 

And elegance, such as Arcadian sonoj 220 

Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times ; 

When tyrant custom had not shackled man. 

But free to follow Nature was the mods. 



217. To glean, &c: In European countries (says Duncan) the humane 
practice prevails of permitting the poor to glean the grain-fields, after 
the reapers. It is a practice obviously founded on the Mosaic law, and is 
at least as old as the entrance of the children of Israel. By that law 
the destitute inhabitants were permitted to glean three different sorts of 
produce, — that of the vine, that of the olive, and that of grain. With 
the view of rendering this law effective for the relief of the poor, it was 
required that after the olive-tree was beaten the owner should not " go 
over the boughs again," and that when the grapes were gathered, he 
should not " glean the vineyard afterwards ;" what was left, in both 
cases, becoming the property of " the stranger, the fatherless, and the 
widow." In like maimer, and for the same object, when the farmer reap- 
ed his grain, he was forbidden to make " a clean riddance" of the corners 
of the field, or to gather any of the gleanings ; and he was even en- 
joined to abstain from removing, for his own use, any sheaf which, when 
carrying home his grain, he might inadvertently have left behind. Every 
one is acquainted with the beautiful and affecting story of Ruth, the Mo- 
abitess, in which this practice, as it prevailed among the descendants of 
Abraham, is graphically introduced. The benevolent intention of this 
law cannot be mistaken ; and the custom, though not enjoined by the 
Gospel, is too conformable to its spirit to have been overlooked or neg- 
lected in almost any quarter where Christianity has extended its influence. 

220. AiH-adian song : Arcadia was located in the centre of the Pelo- 
ponnesus — a district of mountains and valleys and streams, for the most 
part adapted and devoted tc pastoral pursuits. It was the Alpine coun- 
try of Greece, and the rural habits of its people are said to have beea 
similar to those of tlie people if the Alps. 



AUTUMN. 2i 1 

He then, bis fancj with autumnal scenes 
Amusing, chanced beside his reaper-train 225 

To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye ; 
Unconscious of her power, and turning quick 
With unaffected blushes from his gaze. 
He saw her charming, but he saw not half 
The charms her downcast modesty conceal'd. 230 

That very moment love and chaste desire 
Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown ; 
For still the world prevail'd, and its dread laugh, 
Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn. 
Should his heart own a gleaner in the field ; 235 

And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd : 
" What pity ! that so delicate a form. 
By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense 
Arid more than vulorar goodness seem to dwell, 
Should be devoted to the rude embrace 240 

Of some indecent clown. She looks, methinks, 
Of old Acasto's line ! and to my mind 
Recalls that patron of my happy life. 
From wliom my liberal fortune took its rise ; 
Now to the dust gone down ; his houses, lands, 245 

And once fair-spreading family, dissolved. 
'Tis sard, that in some lone, obscure retreat, 
Urg^ed by remembrance sad, and decent pride, 
Far from those scenes which knew their better days, 
His aged widow and his daughter live, 250 

Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. 
^Romantic wish ! would this the daughter were !" 

229. Her charming : An elliptical and classical form of expression — 
neaning, he saw that she was a charming, or highly agreeable person. 

242. Acasfo : A former friend and benefactor of Palemon — wlio had 
oeen a man of generous heart and ample means, but before he died be- 
came reduced in circumstances, and left his widow and beautiful daughter 
m a condition of penury. 



12 AL'TL'MN". 

When, strict inquiring, fi'om herself he found 
She was the same, the dauQfhter of his friend. 
Of bountiful Acasto ; who can speak 255 

The mingled passions that surprised his heart, 
And through his nerves in shivering transport ran ? 
Then blazed his smother'd flame^ avow'd, and bold ; 
And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er. 
Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once. 260 

Confused, and frighten'd at his sudden tears, 
Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom, 
As thus Palemon, passionate and just, 
Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul : 

" And art thou then Acasto's dear remains ? 265 

She, whom my restless gratitude has sought, 
So long in vain ? heavens ! the very same, 
The soften'd image of my noble friend ; 
Alive his every look,Jus every feature. 
More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than' Spring ! 270 

Thou sole surviving blossom from the root 
That nourish'd up my fortune ! say, ah where. 
In what sequester'd desert hast thou drawn 
The kindest aspect of delighted heaven ? 
Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair ; 275 

Though poverty's cold wind and crushing raia 
Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years ? 
O, let me no\Y into a richer soil 

Transplant thee safe ! where vernal suns and showers 
Ditfuse their warmest, largest influence; 280 

And of my garden be the pride and joy ! 
Ill it befits thee, oh, it ill befits 
Acasto's daughter, his, whose open stores. 
Though vast, were little to his ampler heart. 
The father of a country, thus to pick 285 

The very refuse of those harvest-fields. 
Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy. 



AliTMX. 213 

Then throw that slianieful pittance from thy hand, 

But ill appUed to such a rugged task. 

The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine ; 290 

If to the various blessings which thy house 

Has on n^e lavished, thou wilt add that bliss. 

That dearest bliss, the poAver of blessing thee !" 

Here ceased the youth ; yet still his speaking eye 
Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul, 295 

With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love. 
Above the vulgar joy divinely raised. 
Nor waited he reply. Won by the charm 
Of goodness irresistible, and all 

In sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent. 300 

The news immediate to her mother brought, 
While, pierced with anxious thought, she pined away 
The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate ; 
Amazed, and scarce believing what she heard, 
Joy seized her wither'd veins, and one bright gleam 805 
Of setting life shone on her evening hours ; 
Not less enraptured than the happy pair. 
Who flourished long in tender bliss, and rear'd 
A numerous offspring, lovely like themselves. 
And good, the grace of all the country round. 310 



A HARVEST "^ORM. 

Defeating oft the la]?ors of the year. 
The sultry south collects a potent blast. 
At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stir 
Their trembling tops, and a still murmur runs 
Alonof the soft-inclinins: fields of com. 815 

But as the aerial tempest fuller swells, 

812. The sultry south, etc.: Amid this genial season, the south seema 
to grudge the happiness and plenty which Autumn bestows on man, and 
collects her storms, and lets them loose on the earth. — C. 



214 AUTUMN. 

And in one mighty stream, invisible, 

Immense, the whole excited atmosphere 

Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world ; 

Strain'd to the root, the stooping forest pours 320 

A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves. 

High beat, the circling mountains eddy in, 

From the bare wild, the dissipated storm, 

And send it in a torrent down the vale. 

Exposed, and naked to its utmost rage, 325 

Through all the sea of harvest roUing round, 

The billowy plain floats wide ; nor can evade, 

Though pliant to the blast, its seizing force ; 

Or whirl'd in air, or into vacant chaflf 

Shook waste. And sometimes too a burst of rain, 330 

Swept from the black horizon, broad descends 

In one continuous flood. Still overhead 

The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and still 

The deluge deepens ; till the fields around 

Lie sunk and flatted in the sordid wave. 335 

Sudden the ditches swell ; the meadows swim. 

Red, from the hills, innumerable streams 

Tumultuous roar ; and high above its banks 

The river lift ; before whose rushing tide. 

Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages, and s warns, 340 

Roll mingled down : all that the winds had spared 

In one wild moment ruin'd ; the big hopes 

And well-earn'd treasures of the painful year. 

Fled to some eminence, the husbandman. 

Helpless, beholds the miserable wreck 345 

Driving along ; his dr:)wning ox at once 

Descending, with his labors scatter'd round. 

He sees ; and instant o'er his shivering thought 

Comes Winter unprovided, and a train 

Of claimant children dear. Ye masters, then, 350 

Be mindful of the rough laborious hand 



AU'lUMN. 215 

That sinks you soft in elegance and ease ; 

Be mindful of those limbs in russet clad, 

Whose toil to yours is warmth and graceful pride ; 

And, oh ! be mindful of that sparing board, 355 

Which covers yours with luxury profuse, 

Makes your glass sparkle, and your sense rejoice ! 

Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains 

And all involving winds have swept away. 

SHOOTING AND HUNTING THEIR BARBARITY. 

Here the rude clamor of the sportsman's joy, 360 

The gun fast thundering, and the winded horn, 
Would tempt the Muse to sing the rural game ; 
How in his mid career the spaniel struck, 
Stifif, by the tainted gale, with open nose, 
Outstretch'd, and finely sensible, draws full, 365 

Fearful, and cautious, on the latent prey ; 
As in the sun the circling covey bask 
Their varied plumes, and, watchful every way, 
Through the rough stubble turn the secret eye. 
Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat 370 

860. When the rain ceases, and the sky clears, the poet sends to the 
fields the hunter and his noisy pack ; but while he surrenders to him the 
healthy but cruel sports of the chase, he forbids the gentler sex (5*70- 
608).— C. 

370. Meshy snare : Snare formed of net-work to catch birds. Covey is 
a small flock of birds. Upon the mode of catcliing birds and upon its 
moral aspects, Mrs. Ellis observes : — There is a scene exhibited eveiy day 
throughout the summer months, in the outskirts of London, which it is 
possible to contemplate until the mind is filled with misanthropy, and we 
learn to loathe and shun our own species. In fields sufficiently remote from 
the city to admit of their being the resort of birds, men are accustomed to 
station themselves with a trap and snare, Jn order to obtain a supply of 
singing buds for the London markets. The trap is a large net, so contrived 
that it can be drawn up in a moment ; the snare is a httle chirping bird, 
tied fast to the end of a pliant stick, which rebounds with the flutter of 
its wings, and thus the bird alternately rising and sinking has something 



216 AUTUMN. 

Their idle wings, entangled more and more : 
Nor on tbe surges of the boundless air, 
Though borne triumphant, are they safe : the gun, 
Glanced just and sudden from the fowler's eye, 
O'ertakes their sounding pinions ; and again, 375 

Immediate, brings them, from the towering wing. 
Dead to the ground ; or drives them wide dispersed, 
Wounded, and wheeling various, down the wind. 
These are not subjects 'for the peaceful Muse, 
. Nor will she stain with such her spotless song ; 380 

Then most delighted, when she social sees 
The whole mix'd animal creation round, 
Alive and happy. 'Tis not joy to her. 
This falsely cheerful, barbarous game of death. 
This rage of pleasure, which the restless youth 386 

Awakes, impatient, with the gleaming morn ; 
When beasts of prey retire, that all night long, 
Urged by necessity, had ranged the dark. 
As if their conscious ravage shunn'd the light, 
Ashamed. Not so the steady tyrant man, 390 

Who, with the thoughtless insolence of power 
Inflamed, beyond the most infuriate wrath 
Of the worst monster that e'er roara'd the waste. 



the appearance of dancing at will upon the light and buoyant spray. Tho 
man, the monarch of creation, all the while crouches on the ground to 
watch his prey, and when one little sufferer has by its fruitless struggles 
80 well mimicked the movements of a joyous flight as to allure its fellow- 
victims into the snare, the fatal knot is drawn ; the man chooses out from 
the number the sweetest songsters, and after depositing them separately 
in an immense number of httle cages, brought with him for the purpose, 
they are conveyed to the market, purchased, and made miserable during 
the rest of their lives, for the delectation of London ears, and the benefit 
of society in general. 

379, (fee. Some remarks are made (167-176) on the benevolence of 
Thomson's disposition. We have here another exquisite exhibition of the 
same amiable trait, which deserves to be imitated as well as admired. 
His indignation at the cruelties of tho chase is forcibly expressed. 



AUTUMN. 



21: 



For sport alone pursues the cruel chase, 

Amid the beamings of the gentle days, 395 

Upbraid, ye rav^ening tribes, our wanton rage, 

For hunger kindles you, and lawless want ; 

But lavish fed, in Nature's bounty roll'd, 

To joy at anguish, and delight in blood, 

Is what your horrid bosoms never knew. 400 

Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare ! 
Scared from the corn, and now to some lone seat 
Retired ; the rushy fen ; the ragged furze, 
Stretch'd o'er the stony heath ; the stubble chapt ; 
The thistly lawn ; the thick-entangled broom ; 405 

Of the same friendly hue, the wither'd fern ; 
The fallow ground laid open to the sun, 
Concoctive ; and the nodding sandy bank, 
Hung o'er the mazes of the mountain brook. 
Vain is her best precaution ; though she sits 410 

403. Ragged furze : The furze, or whin, is a thorny evergreen shrub, 
quite common in the plains and on the hills of Great Britain. It bears 
a beautiful yellow flower. 

408. Concoctive : Denoting the influence which the sun exerts to ren- 
der the fallow ground productive. 

410-18. Professor Wilson of Edinburgh, the philosopher, the critic, the 
poet, the sportsman of Scotland, gives this lively picture of the hare : — 
One often hears of a cunning old fox ; but the cunningest old fox is a 
simpleton to the most guileless young hare. What deceit in every double I 
What calculation in every squat ! Of what far more complicated than 
Cretan labyrinth is the creature, now hunted for the first time, sitting in 
the centre ! a-listening the baffled roar ! Now into the pool she plunges 
to free "herself from the fatal scent th;it lures on death. Now down the 
torrent course she runs and leaps, to cleanse it from her poor paws, fur- 
protected from the sharp flints that lame the fiends that so sorely beset 
her, till many limp along in their own blood. Now along the coping of 
stone walls she crawls and scrambles ; and now ventures from the wood 
along the frequented high road, heedless of danger from the front, so that 
she may escape the horrid growling in the rear. Now into the pretty 
Uttle garden of the wayside, or even the village cot, she creeps, as if to 
implore protection from the innocent children or the nursing mother. Ye^ 
she will even seek refuge in the sanctuary of the cradle. 

10 



218 • AUTUMN-. -• 

Conceal'd, with folded ears, unsleeping ejes. 

By Nature raised to take the horizon in, 

And head couch 'd close betwixt her hairy feet. 

In act to spring away. The scented dew 

Betrays her early labyrinth ; and deep, 415 

In scatter'd, sullen openings, far behind, 

With every breeze she hears the coming storm. 

But nearer, and more frequent, as it loads 

The sighing gale, she springs amazed, and all 

The savage soul of game is up at t)nce : 420 

The pack full opening, various ; the shrill horn, 

Resounded from the hills ; the neighing steed. 

Wild for the chase ; and the loud hunters' shout ; 

O'er a weak, harmless, flying creature, all 

Mix'd in mad tumult and discordant joy. 425 

The stag, too, singled from the herd, where long 
He ranofed the branchino- monarch of the shades, 
Before- the tempest drives. At first, in speed 
He, sprightly, puts his faith ; and, roused by fear. 
Gives all his swift aerial soul to flight. ' 430 

Against the breeze he darts, that way the more 
To leave the lessening, murderous cry behind. 
Deception short ! though fleeter than the winds 
Blown o'er the keen-air'd mountain by the north. 
He bursts the thickets, glances through the glades, 435 
And plunges deep into the wildest wood ; 
If slow, yet sure, adhesive to the track, 
Hot steaming, up behind him come again 
Th' inhuman rout, and from the shady depth 
Expel him, circling through his every shift. 440 

He sweeps the forest oft ;' and sobbing sees 

412. Raised, <fec. : The eye of the hare is remarkably prominent, so that 
it is fitted to take in a large compass of view — to discover objects behind 
as well as before. ^ 

439. Rout : Pack of hounds. 



AUTUMN. 219 

Tlie glades, mild op'ning to the golden day ; 

Where, in kind contest, with his butting friendi 

He wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy. 

Oft in the full-descending flood he tries 445 

To lose the scent, and lave his burnins: sides : 

Oft seeks the herd ; the watchful herd, alarm'd. 

With selfish care avoid a brother's woe. 

What shall he do? His once so vivid nerves, * 

So full of buoyant spirit, now no more 450 

Inspire the course ; but fainting, breathless t®il, 

Sick, seizes on his heart. He stands at bay, 

And puts his last weak refuge in despair. 

The big round tears run down his dappled face ; 

He groans in anguish; while the growling pack, 455 

Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest. 

And mark his beauteous checker'd sides with gore. 

Of this enough. But if the sylvan youth. 
Whose fervent blood boils into violence. 
Must have the chase ; behold, despising flight, 460 

The roused-up lion, resolute and slow. 
Advancing full on the protended spear 
And coward-band, that circling wheel aloof. 
Slunk from the cavern and the troubled wood. 
See the grim wolf ; on him his shaggy foe 465 

Vindictive fix, and let the ruffian die : 
Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boar 
Grins fell destruction, to the monster's heart 
Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm. 

THB FOX-HUNT. 

These Britain knows not ; give, ye Britons, then 470 
Your sportive fury, pitiless, to pour 

442. Glades Open or cleared spaces in a forest. 



220 AurrMN. 

Loose on the niglitly robber of the .old. 

Him, from bis crafrsxv windinnf haunts uneartb'd. 

Let all the thunder of the chase pursue. 

Throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge 475 

470-496. Though we have here an exact picture of fox-hunting, the 
favoiite eport of Great Britain, it may gratify some readers to contem- 
jiHte a larger picture, drawn by Prof. Wilson, the Christopher North of 
Blackwood : 

" Well, do you know, that after all you have said, Mr. North, I cannot 
understand the passion and the pleasure of foxdiunting? It seems to me 
both cruel and dangerous." 

" Cruelty ! Is there cruelty in laying the rein on the necks of their 
horses and delivering them up to their high condition — for every throb- 
bing vein is visible — at the first full burst of that maddening cry, and 
letting loose to their deliglit the living thunderbolts? Danger? What 
danger but of breaking their own legs, necks, or backs, and those of their 
riders? What though it be but a smallish, reddish-brown, sharp-nosed 
animal, with pricked-up ears, and passionately fond of poultry, that they 
pursue? After th^ first tally dio, Reynard is rarely seen, till he is run in 
up6n — once perhaps in the whole run, skirting a wood, or crossing a com- 
mon. It is an idea that is pursued, on a whirlwind of horses to a storm 
of canine music, worthy both of the largest lion that ever leaped among 
a band of M<M»rs, sleeping at midnight by an extinguished fire on the 
African sandi*. There is, we verily believe it, nothing foxy in the fancy 
of one man in all that glorious field of three hundred. Once off and 
away — wliile wood and welkin ring — and nothing is felt — nothing is 
imaged in that hurricane flight, but scorn of all obstructions, dikes, ditclies, 
drains, brooks, palings, canals, rivers, and all the impediments reared in the 
way of so many rejoicing madmen, by nature, art, and science, in an inclosed, 
cultivated, civilized, and Christian country. There they go — prince and 
peer, baronet and squire — the nobility and gentry of England, the flower 
of the men of the earth, each on such steed as Pollux never reined, nor 
PhiUp's warlike son. Hedges, trees, groves, gardens, orchards, woods, 
farm-houses, huts, halls, mansions, palaces, spires, steeples, towns, and 
temples, all go wavering >v, each demi-god seeing, or seeing them not, as 
his winged steed skims or la>ors along, to the swelling or sinking music. 
Crash goes the timber of the iive-barred gate ; away over the ears flies 
the ex-rougli rider in a surprising somerset ; after a succession of stumbles, 
down is the gallant gray on knees and nose, making sad work among the 
fallow. * * * * ' Every man for himself, and God for us all,' is 
the devout and ruling apothegm of the day. If death befall, what wonder ? 
since horse and man are mortal ; btit death loves better a wide soft bed, 
with quiet curtains Tnd darkened windows in a still, room, the clergyman 



AUTUMN. 



221 



High bound, resistless ; nor the deep moras% 

Refuse, but through the shaking wilderness 

Pick your nice way. Into the peiilous flood 

Bear fearless, of the rao-incr instinct full ; 

And as you ride the torrent, to the banks 4.80 

Your triumph sound sonorous, running round 

From rock to rock, in circling echoes toss'd. 

Then scale the mountains to their woody tops ; 

Rush down the dangerous steep, an"d o'er the lawn, 

In fancy swallowing up the space between, 485 

Pour all your speed into the rapid game. 

For happy he ! who tops the -wheeling chase ; 

Has every maze evolved, and eveiy guile 

Disclosed ; who knows the merits of the pack ; 

Who saw the villain seized, and dying hard, 490 

Without complaint, though by a hundred mouths 

Relentless torn : O glorious he, beyond 

His daring peers ! v/hen the retreating horn 

Calls them to ghostly halls of gray renown, 

With woodland honors graced ; the fox's fur, 495 

Depending decent from the roof; and spread 

Round the drear walls, with antic figures fierce, 

in the one corner with his prayers, and the physician in another with his 
pills, making assurance doubly sure, and preventing all possibility of the 
dying Christian's escape. Let oak branches smite the too slowly stooping 
skull, or rider's back not timely levelled with his steed's ; let fiiithless 
bank give way and bury in the brook ; let hidden drain yield to fore-feet 
and work a sudden wreck; * * * * yet, 'without stop or stay' 
the hunter-train flows on ; for the music grows fiercer and more savage. 
— lo ! all that remains of the pack, in far more dreadful madness tlian 
hydrophobia, leaping out of their skins, under insanity from the scent, 
now as strong as stink, for Vulpes can hardly now make a crawl of it 
find ere he, they, whipper-in, .or any one of the other three demoniacs, 
have time to look in one another's splashed f:ices, he is torn into a thou- 
sand pieces, gobbled up in the general growl ; and snug, and smooth, and 
dry, and warm, and cozey, as he was an hour and twenty-tive minutes 
ago exactly, in his furze-bush in the cover, — he is Pjow piece-meal in about 
thirty distinct stomachs ; and is he not, pray, well off for sepulture ?" 



222 AUTUMN. 

The stag's large front. He then is loudest heard. 
When the night staggers with severer toils, 
With feats Thessalian Centaurs never knew, 600 

And their repeated wonders shake the dome. 

THE FROLICKSOME SUPPER. 

But first the fuel'd chimney blazes wide ; 
The tankards foam ; and the strong table groans 
Beneath the smoking sirloin, stretch'd immense 
From side to side ; in which, with desperate knife, 505 
They deep incision make, and talk the while 
Of England's glory, ne'er to be defaced 
While hence they borrow vigor : or amain 
Into the pasty plunged, at intervals, 

If stomach keen can intervals allow, 610 

Relating all the glories of the chase. 
Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst 
Produce the mighty bowl ; the mighty bowl, 
Swell'd high with fiery juice, steams liberal round 
A potent gale, delicious as the breath 515 

Of Maia to the love-sick shepherdess, 
On violets diffused, while soft she hears 
Her panting shepherd stealing to her arms. 
Nor wanting is the brown October, drawn, 
Mature and perfect, from his dark retreat 620 

Of thirty years ; and now his honest front 
Flames in the light refulgent, not afraid 
E'en with the vineyard's best produce to vie. 

500. . Thessalian Centaurs : Fabulous beings, half man, half horse, re- 
Mding in Thessah'. There is a legend of a marriage-feast attended by 
the Centaurs and Lapithae, at which, under the influence of wine, great 
disorder and violence occurred, and several were slain. 

516. Maia: A Latin name for May. 

519. Brown October: The brown product of that month. Cider, proba- 
'piy, is meant. 



AUTUMX. 223 

To cheat the thirsty moments, AVhist awhile 

Walks his dull round, beneath a cloud of smoke, 525 

Wreathed, fragrant, from the pipe :' or the quick dice, 

In thunder leaping from the box, av^-ake 

The sounding gammon ; while romp-lov^ing miss 

Is haul'd about in gallantry robust. 

At last, these puling idlenesses laid 530 

Aside, frequent and full, tlie dry divan 
Close in firm circle ; and set, ardent, in 
For serious drinking. Nor evasion sly, 
Nor sober shift is to the puking wretch 
Indulged apart ; but earnest, brimming bowls 535 

Lave every soul, the table floating round, 
And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot. 
Thus as they swim in mutual swill, the talk, 
Vociferous at once from twenty tongues. 
Reels fast from theme to theme ; from horses, hounds, 540 
To church or mistress, politics or ghost, 
^In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd. 
Meantime, with sudden interruption, loud, 
Th' impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart : 
That moment touch'd is every kindred soul ; 545 

And, opening in a fujl-mouth'd cry of joy. 
The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse go round.; 
While, from their slumbers shook, the kennel'd hounds 
Mix in the music of the day again. 

As when the tempest, that has vex'd the deep, 550 

The dark nio^ht lonor, with fainter murmurs falls ; 
So gradual sinks their mirth. Their feeble tongues, 

528. Gammon: The name of a game played with dice. It is usually 
called backgammon. 

531. Dry divan: Thirsty company. Tlie term divan is most strictly 
appropriate to the Turkish council of state ; hence humorously applied, 
as here, to a oouncil of boisterous and hard drinkers. 

644. Catch : A piece sung by three or four voices, one of which leads, 
And the others follow in singini; the same notes. 



224 AUTUMN. 

Unable to take up tht, umbroiis word, 

Lie quite dissolved. Before their maudlin eyes. 

Seen dim and blue, the double tapers dance,' 655 

Like the sun wading through the misty sky. 

Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confused above. 

Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers, 

As if the table e'en itself was drunk, 

Lie a wet broken scene ; and wide, below, 660 

Is heap'd the social slaughter ; where astride. 

The lubber Power in filthy triumph sits, 

Slumb'rous, inclining still from side to side, 

And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till morn. 

Perhaps some doctor of tremendous paunch, 565 

Av/ful and deep, a black abyss of drink, 

Outlives them all ; and from his buried flock 

Retiring, full of rumination sad, 

Laments the weakness of these latter times. 

EMPLOYMENTS SUITABLE TO THE WOMEN OF BRITAIN. 

But if the rougher sex by this tierce sport 5*70 

Is hurried wild, let not such horrid joy 
E'er stain the bosom of the British fair. 
Far be .the spirit of the chase from them ! 
Uncomely courage, unbeseeming skill ; 
To spring the fence, to rein the prancing steed ; 575 

The cap, the whip, the masculine attire ; 
In which they roughen to the sense, and all 
The-winnino^ softness of their sex is lost. 
In them 'tis graceful to dissolve at woe ; 
With every motion, every word, to wave 580 

554. Maudlin: Stupid, ^swollen. 

662. Liibber Power : The besotting, stupefying' power. Intemperance ' 
or, the power tlmt makes lubbers — that is, lazy, idle, good-for-nothing 
fellows, such as Thomson here so graphically portrays. 



AUTUMN. 225 

Quick o'er the kind ling cheek the ready blush ; 

And from the smallest violence to shrink 

Unequal, then the loveliest in their fears ; 

And by this silent adulation soft, 

To their protection more engaging man. 685 

may their eyes no miserable sight, 

Save weeping lovers, see ! a nobler game. 

Through love's enchanting wiles pursued, yet lied. 

In chase ambiguous. May their tender limbs 

Float in the loose simplicity of dress ! 690 

And, fashion'd all to harmony, alone 

Know they to seize the captivated soul, 

In rapture warbled from love-breathing lips ; 

To teach the lute to languish ; with smooth step 

Disclosing motion in its every charm, 696 

To swim along, and swell the mazy dance ; 

To train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn ; 

To guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page ; 

To lend new flavor to the fruitful year. 

And heighten Nature's dainties : in their race 600 

To rear their graces into second life ; 

To give society its highest taste ; 

Well-order'd home man's best delight to make ; 

And by submissive wisdom, modest skill. 

With every gentle, care-eluding art, 605 

To raise the virtues, animate the bliss. 

And sweeten all the toils of humem life : 

This be the female dignity and praise. 

Ye swains, now hasten to the hazel-bank; 
Wnere, down yon dale, the wildly winding brook 610 

Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array. 
Fit for the thickets and the tangling shrub. 
Ye virgins, come. For you tlieir latest song 
The woodlands raise ; the clustering nuts for you 
The iQver find^ amid the secret shade ; 615 

10* 



226 AUTUivix. 

And, where they burnish on the topmost bough. 
With active vigor crushes down the tree ; 
Or shakes them ripe from the resigning husk, 
A glossy shower, and of an ardent brown. 
As are the ringlets of Melinda's hair : 620 

• Melinda ! form'd with every grace complete ; 
Yet these neglecting, above beauty wise. 
And far transcending such a vulgar praise. 

THE FRUIT ORCHARD. 

Hence from the busy, joy-resounding fields. 
In cheerful error, let us tread the maze 625 

Of Autumn, unconfined ; and taste, revived, 
The breath of orchard big with bending fruit. 
Obedient to .the breeze and beating ray. 
From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower 
Incessant melts away. The juicy pear 630 

Lies in a soft profusion scatter'd round. 
A various sweetness swells the gentle race. 
By Nature's all-refining hand prepared, 
Of temper'd sun, and water, earth, and air, 
In ever-changing composition mix'd. 635 

Such, falling frequent through the chiller night. 
The fragrant stores, the wide-projected heaps 
Of apples, which the lusty-handed year, 
Innuraerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes. 
A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen, 640 

Dwells in their gelid pores ; and, active, points 
The piercing cider for the thirsty tongue ; 
Thy native theme, and boon inspirer too. 
Philips, Pomona's bard, the second thou 

625. Error : Wandering. 

644. Philips: John Philips entered Oxford University in 1694, be- 
came in 1703 author of "The Splendid Shilling," a bm-lesciu(3 poem, in 



AUTUMN. "Z'^i 

Who nobly durst, in riiyme-iinfettci'd verse, 645 

With British freedom sin<^ the British song ; 

How, from Silurian vats, high-sparkling wines 

Foam in transparent floods ; some strong, to cheer 

The wintry revels of the laboring hind ; 

And tasteful some, to cool the summer hours. 650 

doddington's country-seat. 

Jn this glad season, while his sweetest beams 
The sun sheds* equal o'er the meeken'd day ; 
Oh, lose me in the green delightful walks 
Of, Doddington, thy seat, serene and plain ; . 
Where simple Nature reigns ; and every view, 655 

Diffusive, spreads the pure Dorsetian downs. 
In boundless prospect ; yonder shagg'd with wood, 
Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks ! 
Meantime the grandeur of thy lofty dome. 
Far splendid, seizes on the ravish'd eye. 660 

imitationof the style of Milton, "rhyme-unfettered verse." But his best 
performance, in the same verse, is a poem on Cider, and which probably 
led Thomson to designate him Pomona's bard, as slie was the Pagan god- 
dess of fruits and harvests. He also describes him as the first since Mil- 
ton who ventured to write in blank verse. Philips thus commences his 
Poem on Cider : 

What soil the apple loves, what care is da« 
To orchats, timeliest when to press the fruits. 
Thy gift, Pomona, in Miltonian verse 
Adventurous I presume to sing ; of verse 
Nor skilled, nor studious; but my native soil 
• Invites me, and fae theme as yet unsung. 

64*7. By Silurian vats, are meant tliose in the ancient British kingdom 
of the Silures, answering to southern Wales, and a part of England con- 
tigitous to it. 

654. Doddington : For an account of this gentleman turn back to note 
on (29) " Summer." 

656. Dorsetian downs ; The extensive and naked hilly lands in the 
southern part of Dorsetshire, well atliipted for the pasturage of sheep. 



228 AUTUMN. 

New beauties rise with each revolving day ; 

New columns swell.; and still the fresh Spring finds 

New plants to quicken, and new groves to green. 

Full of thy genius all ! the Muses' seat ; 

Where, in the secret bower and winding walk, 665 

For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay. 

Here wandering oft, fired with the restless thirst 

Of thy applause, I solitary court 

Th' inspiring breeze, and meditate the book 

Of Nature ever open ; aiming thence, C'TO 

Warm from the heart, to learn the moral song. 

Here, as I steal along the sunny wall, 

Where Autumn basks, with fruit empurpled deep. 

My pleasing theme continual prompts my thought : 

Presents the downy peach ; the shining plum ; 6*75 

The ruddy, fragrant nectarine ; and dark. 

Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig. 

The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots. 

Hangs out her clusters, glowing to the south. 

And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky. 680 

THE VINEYARD. 

Turn we a moment Fancy's rapid flight 
To vigorous soils and climes of fair extent ; 
Where, by the potent sun elated high, 
The vineyard sv/ells refulgent on the day. 
Spreads o'er the vale, or up the m.ountain climbs, 685 

Profuse ; and drinks amid the sunny rocks, 

6«i6. Virtuou& Yountf : The distinguished Edward Young, author of tb« 
Hnmortal " Night Thoughts," a sublime and religious Poem, worthy of the 
epithet by which he is here described. He died, at an advanced age, in 
1785. For a full account of him I beg leave to refer to my recent edition 
©f that Poem. 

To twine the bay, is to prepare the laurel crown, as an emblem of poptMt 
(Bxcelitiuce and superiority. 



AUTUM.Y. 229 

From cliff to cliff increased, the heighten'd blaze. 

Low bend the weighty boughs. The. clusters sleai, 

Half through the foliage seen, or ardent flame. 

Or shine transparent ; while perfection breathes 690 

White o*er the turcrent film the livino- dew. 

As thus they brighten with exalted juice, 

Touch'd into flavor by the mingling ray ; 

The rural youth and virgins o'er the field, 

Each fond for each to cull th* autumnal prime, 695 

Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh. 

Then comes the crushing swain ; the country floats. 

And foams unbounded with the mashy flood ; 

That, by degrees fermented and refined, 

Round the raised nations pours the cup of joy : YOO 

The claret smooth, red as the lip we press 

In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl ; 

The mellow-tasted burgundy ; and quick 

As is the wit it gives, the gay champagne. 

AUTUMNAL FOGS, AND ORIGIN OF SPRINGS AND RIVBI18. 

Now, by the cool declining year condensed, 'JOo 

Descend the copious exhalations, check'd 
As up the middle sky unseen they stole. 
And roll the doubling fogs around the hill. 
No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime. 
Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides, YlO 

And high between contending kingdoms rears 
The rocky long division, fills the view 



690-1. Perfection gives to the turgent film (the swelling skin) a whitish 
and moist appearance, here denominated living dew, probably, as being 
the result of organic action, 

695. Autumnal prime : Th? first or choicest fruit of Autumn. 

697. Cms/ling swaiii : The hardy man whose business it was to crush 
tho grapes and express the juice. 



230 ACTUMX. 

With great variet}^ ; but in a night 

Of gathering vapor, from the baffled sense, 

Sinks dark and dreary. Thence expanding far, 715 

The huge dusk, gradual, swallows up the plain ; 

Vanish the woods ; the dim-seen river seems , 

Sullen and slow, to roll the misty wave. 

E'en in the height of noon oppress'd, the sun 

Sheds weak and blunt his wide-refracted ray ; 720 

Whence glaring oft, with many a broaden'd orb. 

He fright^ the nations. Indistinct on earth, 

See^ through the turbid air, beyond the life 

Objects appe^'r ; and, wilder'd, o'er the waste 

The shepherd stalks gigantic. Till at last 725 

Wreathed dun around, in deeper circles still 

Successive closing, sits the general fog. 

Unbounded o'er the world ; and, mingling thick, 

A formless gray confusion covers all. 

As when of old (so sung the Hebrew Bard) 730 

Light, uncollected, through the chaos urged 

Its infant way ; nor order yet had drawn 

His lovely train from out the dubious gloom. 

These roving mists that constant now begin 
To smoke along the hilly country, these, 735 

With weighty rains, and melted Alpine snows, . 
The mountain cisterns fill, those ample stores 
Of water, scooped among the hollow rocks ; 
Whence gush the streams, the ceaseless fountains play. 
And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw. ' 740 

Some sages say, that, where the numerous wave 
Forever lashes the resounding shore, 
Drill'd through the sandy stratum, every way, 
The waters with the sandy stratum rise ; 
Amid whose angles infinitely strain'd, 745 

ISO. Hebrew Bard: David. 



AUTUM#7. 231 

Tiiey joyful leave their jaggy salts behind, 

And clear and sweeten as they soak alono-. 

Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still, 

Though oft amidst th' irriguous vale it springs ; 

But to the mountain courted by the sand, 750 

That leads it darkling on in faithful maze, 

Far from the parent main, it boils again 

Fresh into day ; and all the glittering hill 

Is bright, with spouting rills. But hence this vain 

Amusive dream ! why should the waters love 755 

To take so far a journey to the hills, 

When the sweet valleys offer to their toil 

Inviting quiet and a nearer bed ? 

Or, if by blind ambition led astray. 

They must aspire ; why should they sudden stop 760 

Among the broken mountain's rushy dells. 

And, ere they gain its highest peak, desert 

Th' attractive sand that charm'd their course so lono- ? 

Besides, the hard agglomerating salts. 

The spoil of ages, would impervious choke 765 

Their secret channels ; or, by slow degrees. 

High as the hills protrude the swelling vales, 

Old Ocean too, suck'd through the porous globe, 

Had long ere now forsook his horrid bed. 

And brought Deucalion's watery times ao-ain. 770 

Say then, where lurk the vast eternal springs. 
That, like creating Nature, lie conceal'd 
From mortal ej e, yet with their lavish stores 
Refresh the globe and all its joyous tribes ? 



YTO. Deucalion was a Thessalian prince in the fabulous period of an- 
cient Greece, in whose time a dehige is said to have occurred, against 
which he and his wife were provided for by an ark, in which they re- 
mained safely until the deluge ceased. It is supposed by some that tho 
tradition of the Noachian deluge, recorded in the Scriptures, became the 
hstis of some versions of this story of Deucalion. 



232 ACTrMX. 

thou pervading Genius, given to man, 775 

To trace the secrets of the dark abyss, 

O, lay the mountains bare ! and wide display 

Their hidden structure to th' astonish'd view ! 

Strip from the branching Alps their piny load ; 

The huge incumbrance of horrific woods 780 

From Asian Taurus, from Imaus stretchM 

Athwart the roving Tartar's sullen bounds ! 

Give opening Hemus to my searching eye, 

And high Olympus pouring many a stream ! 

O, from the sounding summits of the north, 785 

The Dorfrine hills, through Scandinavia roll'd 

To farthest Lapland and the frozen main ; 

From lofty Caucasus, far seen by those 

Who in the Caspian and black Euxine toil ; 

From cold Riphean rocks, which the wild Russ 790 

Believes the stony girdle of the world ; 

781. Afiian Taurus : A chain of mountains extending from near the 
western shore of the Arcliipelago to the river Euphrates. The Imaus is 
a continuation of the former range, and answers to the modern Himalaya. 

783, Hemus is a chain of high mountains reaching 500 miles — from thb 
Gulf of Venice to the Euxine, or Black Sea. Its modern name is Balcan. 

784. Olyynpus : A range separating Thessaly from Macedonia. The 
name is chiefly applied to one of its highest peaks, and that by the Gre- 
cian poets was assigned to* the gods as their abode. It seems to rise from 
the sea, and hide its lofty and pnowy head among the clouds. 

786. Lorfrine hills : The range ofr mountains separating Norway from 
Sweden, both of which countries and the adjacent countries were anciently 
comprehended in the name of Scandinavia. The more modern name of 
this range, or rather of a part of it, is Dofrafial. 

788. Caucasus is a chain of mountains beginning at the mouth of the 
(^uban, in the Black Sea, and reaching to the mouth of the Kur, in the 
Caspian. Its tops are always covered with snow : the lower parts abound 
in honey, corn, wine, gum, fruits, hogs, and horned cattle. This range oi 
mountains is occupied by seven distinct nations, each speaking a different 
language. Those best known are the Circassians and the Geoigians. 

790. The Russians formerly called the Riphean Mountains Weliki Ca- 
menypays ; that }s,'7'he Great Stony Girdle, supposing that they encom- 
poseed the enth-e globe. 



AUTUMN. 233 

And all the dreadful mountains, wrapp'd in storm, 

Whence wide Siberia draws her lonely floods ; 

O, sweep th' eternal snows ! Hung o'er thp deep, 

That ever works beneath his sounding base, 795 

Bid Atlas, propping Heaven, as poets feign. 

His subterranean wonders spread ! Unveil 

The miny caverns, blazing on the day, 

Of Abyssinia's cloud -compelling chffs, 

And of the bending Mountains of the Moon ! 800 

Overtopping all these giant sons of earth, 

Let the dire Andes, from the radiant line 

Stretch'd to the stormy seas that thunder round 

The southern pole, their hideous deeps unfold ! 

Amazing scene ! behold ! the glooms disclose ; 805 

I see the rivers in their infant beds ! 

Deep, deep I hear them laboring to get free. 

I see the leaning strata, artful ranged, 

The gaping fissures to receive the rains. 

The melting snows, and ever-dripping fogs. 810 

Strew'd bibulous above I see the sands. 

The pebbly gravel next, the layers then 

Of mingled moulds, of more retentive earths. 

The gutter'd rocks and mazy-running clefts ; 

That, while the stealing moisture t\x?,j transmit, 815 

Retard its motion and forbid its waste. 

Beneath th' incessant weeping of these drains, 

I see the rocky siphons stretch'd immense. 

The mighty reservoirs of harden'd chalk, 

796. Atlas, in norlhern Africa. 

798. Cloud compelling : Cloud-collecting. 

800. The Mountains of the Moon are loftier than Atlas, and extend 
from Western Africa through Abyssinia to the Indian Ocean. Thomson, 
however, evidently considers them as not extending so far east as Abys- 
Binia. 

811. Bibulous: The sands and pebbly gravel are thus described from 
the property which they have of absorbing, or drinking in, moisture. 



234 ACiUMN. 

Or stiff compacted clay, capacious form'd. 820 

O'erfiowincr thence, the conorreo-ated stores. 
The crystal treasures of the Kquid world, 
Through the stirr'd sands a bubbling passage burst. 
And welling out, around the middle steep, 
Or from the bottoms of the bosom'd hills, 825 

In pure effusion flow. United, thus, 
Th' exhaling sun, the vapor-burden'd air. 
The gelid mountains, that to rain condensed 
These vapors in continual current draw. 
And send them, o'er the fair-divided earth, 830 

.In bounteous rivers to the deep again, 
A social commerce hold, and firm support 
The full adjusted harmony of things. 

MIGRATION OF BIRDS TO WARMER CLIMATES. 

When Autumn scatters his departing gleams, 
Warn'd of approaching Winter, gather'd, play 835 

The swallow-people ; and toss'd wide around, 



833. Adjusted harmom/ of things : Dr. Buckland, in his Inaugural Leo- 
lure, observes : — In the whole machinery of springs and rivers, and in the 
apparatus that is kept in action for their duration, throu«:h the instrumen- 
tahty of a system of curiously constructed hills and valleys, receiving their 
supply occasionally from the rains of heaven, and treasuring i^ up in their 
everlasting storehouses, to be dispensed perpetually, by thousands of never- 
failing fountains, we see a provision not less striking than it is important. 
So, also, in the adjustment of the relative quantities of sea and land, in 
such due proportions as to supply the earth by constant evaporation, with- 
out diminishing the waters of the ocean ; -and in the appointment of the 
atmosphere to be the vehicle of this wonderful and unceasing circulation ; 
and thus separating these waters from their native salt (which, though 
of the highest utility to preserve the purity of the sea, renders them 
unfit for the support of terrestrial animals, or vegetables), and transmit- 
ting them in genial showers to scatter fertility over the earth, and main- 
tain the never-failing reservoirs of those springs and rivers by which 
they are again returned to mix with their paren: ocean ; in all these cir- 
cumstances, we find such evidence of nicely balanced adaptation of means 



ADTUMI^. 



235 



O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift, 

The featber'd eddy floats ; rejoicing once, 

Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire ; 

In clusters clung, beneath the mouldering bank, 840 

And where, unpierced by frost, the cavern sweats. 

Or rather into warmer climes convey'd, 

With other kindred birds of season, there 

They twitter cheerful, till the vernal months 

Invite them welcome back : for, thronging, now 845 

Innumerous wings are in commotion all. 

Where the Rhine loses his majestic force 
In Belgian plains, won from the raging deep 
By diligence amriz'ng, and the strong, 

Unconquerable hand of hberty ; 850 

The stork-assembly meets ; for many a day, 
Consulting deep, and various, ere they take 
Their arduous voyage through the liquid sky. 
And now their route design'd, their leaders chose. 
Their tribes adjusted, clean'd their vigorous wings, 855 

And many a circle, many a short essay, 
Wheel'd round and round, in congregation full 
The figured flio;ht ascends ; and, ridino- hiofh 
Th' aerial billows, mixes with the* clouds. 

to ends, of wise foresight, and benevolent intention, and infinite power, 
that he must be blind indeed, who refuses to recognize in them proofs of 
the most exalted attributes of the Creator. 

848. Won from the raging deep : Not only the Belgian plains, but those 
of Holland also, are considerably below the surface of the ocean, wliich 
is kept back by immense dikes, or mounds of earth, from twenty to thirty 
feet high and as many in breadth, erected by the energetic freemen of 
those countries. Were it not for these dikes, a great part of the countr^r 
would be overflowed by the tides. The keeping up of these dikes era- 
ploys ajinually more men than the corn of Holland can maintain. Good- 
rich informs us that these dikes are built of clay, faced on the land side 
with wood and stone, and towards the sea with mats of rushes and sea- 
weed. In North Holland during violent storms, the outsides of the dikes 
are covered with sail-cloth. The utmost eflfort is necessary to prevent 
the sea from making encroachments upon that low tract of country. 



236 AUTLTMN. 

Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls, 860 

Boils round the naked, melancholy isles 
Of farthest Thule and th' Atlantic surge 
Pours in among the stormy Hebrides ; 
Who can recount what transmigrations there 
Are annual made ? what nations come and go? SG5 

And how the living clouds on clouds arise ? 
Infinite wings ! till all the plume-dark air 
And rude resounding shore are one wild cry. 

VIEW OF SCOTLAND FROM THE NORTH. 

Here the plain, harmless native his small flock. 
And herd diminutive of many hues, 870 

Tends on the little island's verdant swell. 
The shepherd's sea-girt reign ; or, to the rocks 
Dire clinfrino^, feathers his ovarious food ; 
Or sweeps the fishy shore, or treasures up 
The plumage, rising full, to form the bed 875 

Of luxury. And here a while the Muse, 

802. Thule : Turn back to "Summer," note 1168, 

863. The Hebrides lie to the west of Scotland, and are about 200 in 
number, most of them small and rocky, and barren. They are chiefly re- 
markable for the number of small lakes which they contain. Heath and 
moss are the principal vegetable products. The shores of these islands 
are the resort of incredible multitudes of sea-birds, and the natives en- 
gage in the most hazardous sport of catching these birds and securing 
also their eggs. In the cavities of the beetling crags (says Goodrich) the 
6ea-fowl resort, and the natives, by means of a rope about tlieir middle, 
overhang precipices nearly a fourth of a mile in height, merely to look 
over which would disorder any common nerves. Yet the adventurer, 
with a line of m.any fathoms, held by several companons above, descends, 
and disengaging himself from the rope, enters cavities in the rock higher 
than the arch of any Gothic clmrch. To this dangerous method of pro- 
curing eggs as food, Thomson refers, 872-3. 

876-91. In Hugh Miller's opinion, there are few things in English po- 
etry finer than the following description, in which Thomson lays at oace 
all Scotland on the canvas. 



Al'TUMN. 237 

Hiirh lioverintr o'er the broad cerulean scene, 

Sees Caledonia, in romantic view : 

Her airy mountains, from the waving mam, 

Invested with a keen diffusive sky, 880 

Breathing the soul acute ; her forests huge, 

Incult, robust, and tall, by Nature's hand 

Planted of old ; her azure lakes between, 

Pour'd out extensive, and of watery wealth 

Full ; winding deep, and green, her fertile vales ; 885 

With many a cool, translucent, brimming flood, 

Wash'd lovely from the Tweed, (pure parent stream, 

Whose pastoral banks first heard my Doric reed, 

878. Caledonia originally comprehended those parts of Scotland that 
lie north of the Forth and Clyde, but the name has long been used to 
designate the whole of Scotland, 

888. Whose pastoral banks, &c. : Banks devoted to the pasturage ol 
Bheep. Here Thomson first exerted his powers as a writer of verse, and 
at the early age of fourteen had so cultivated them as to be able to fur- 
nish the following respectable specimen — indeed remarkable, at so early 
an age : 

Now I survey'd my native faculties, 
And traced my actions to their teeming source : 
Now I explored the universal frame, 
Gazed nature throuiih, and with interior light 
Conversed with angels and embodied saints 
That tread the courts of the Eternal King I 
Gladly I would declare in lofty strains 
The power of Godhead to the sons of men, 
But thought is lost in its immensity : 
Imagination wastes its strength in vain, 
And Fancy tires and turns within itself, 
Struck with the amazing depths of Deity ! 
Ah, my Lord God ! in vain a tender youth, 
Unskiird in arts of deep philosophy. 
Attempts to search the bulky mass of matter, 
To trace the rules of motion, and pursue 
The phantom Time, too subtile for his grasp: 
Yet may I from thy most apparent works 
Form soma idea of their wondrous Author. 

It will help us to form an idea of the early influences that operated upon 
the mind of the young poet, and also to understand the references to the 
scenery referred to in tlie text, to quote a paragraph from Allan Cunning- 
ham's Life of Thomson. 

When Thomsjon was little moie tfian a year old, his father (apioua and 



238 AUTUMN^. 

With, silvan Jed, thy tributary brook,) 

To where the north-inflated tempest foams 890 

O'er Orca's or Betubium's hig-hest peak ; 

Nurse of a people, in misfortune's school • 

Train'd up to hardy deeds ; soon visited 

By Learning, when before the Gothic rage 

She took her western flight: a manly race, 805 

Of unsubmitting spirit, wise, and bcave ; 

Who still throuofh bleedino; ao^es struo-Med hard, 

(As well unhappy Wallace can aittest, 

diligent minister of the Church of Scotland) received a call from Ednam 
(near Kelso), to Southdean on the waters of Jed, in the same county ol 
Roxburgh. From a scene of cultivated beaut;y, where the ruins of Rox- 
burgh Castle, the magnificent remains of 'Kelso Abbey, the clear and 
slow-sliding stream of Tweed, and the hurrying current of the Teviot, 
anite with the hills and dales around in forming a landscape of no or-di- 
nary beauty, the all but unconscious poet was taken to one of a ruder, 
yet not, perhaps, less lovely kind. Southdean is truly a pastoral land ; 
lovely with its green hills, and its blooming heather, while the slender 
stream of the "crystal Jed" wimYm^ through the whole, adds a lonk of 
life by its moving waters to the upland solitude. In this lonesome tliough 
romantic place the poet passed his early years : nor was he insensible, when 
but a boy, to a scene wliich his biographer, Lord Buchan, calls a land " full 
of the elements of natural beauty — wood, water, eminence, and rock, with 
intermixture of rich and beautiful meadow." Here, as he wandered by 
himself, he first met the Muse — not the Muse that visited Burns, with a 
wildly witty grace on her brow, and a tartan kirtle reacliing half leg 
down ; but such a one as his enthusiastic mother would have loved — a 
Muse staid, devout, demure ; her looks, in the language of Milton, "com- 
mercing with the skies." 

891. Orca and Betuhium are, probably, high peaks in the mountains of 
the north of Scotland — or possibly on some of the Orkney isLmds {Or- 
cades), where at certain seasons the most furious tempests are common. 

898. Wallace: Sir William Wallace, one of the most renowned heroes 
ani pntriots of modern times. Russell, the historian, thus speaks of him : 
— "He was of a gigantic stature and endowed with wonderful strength of 
bidV; with invincible fortitude of mind ; with disinterested magnanimity ; 
with iiicre iible patience, and abihty to bear hunger, fatigue, an I all the 
severities of the sensons; so that he soon acquired, among his desperate 
associates, that authority to which liis virtues so eminently entitled him. 
Every day brought accounts of his gallant actions (in resistance to Eoglish 



AUTUMN. 239 

Oreai patriot hero! ill requited chief!) 

To hold a generous undiminish'd state ; 900 

Too much in vain ! Hence of unequal bounds 

Impatient, and by tempting glory borne 

O'er every land, for every land their life 

Has flowed profuse, their piercing genius^plann'd. 

And sweird the pomp of peace their faithful toil ; 905 

As from their own clear north, in radiant streams, 

Bright over Europe bursts the boreal morn. 

AN APPEAL TO SCOTTISH PATRIOTISM. 

Oh ! is there not some patriot, in whose power 
That best, that godlike- luxury is placed. 
Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn, 910 

usurpations and cruelties), which were received with no less favor by his 
countrymen than terror by the enemy." He drove the English from 
Scotland and recovered the fortresses which they had taken, and pursued 
the English army into England as far as Durliam ; was revered by his 
?ouutrymen and hailed as their deliverer and their Regent. This eleva- 
tion, though well deserved and fairly w(,n by a self-sacrificing and generous 
patriotism, unfortunately excited the jealousy of some prcuninen't nobles 
created dissensions, and rendered Scotland again a prey to the victorious 
EcFward of England Wallace remained independent, and greatlv annoyed 
the English; but having been basely betrayed by a professecffiiend he 
was carried, by Edward's order, in cliains to London, tried and condemned 
unjustly as a traitor, executed on Tower-hill, and his body barbarously 
divided ; the parts were placed on different gates of the city. 

907. Boreal morn: The splendid coruscations of this phenomenon, pro 
ceeding from the regions north of Scotland, are here used as a beautiful 
ilhistration of the benign and illuminating influence of Scottish mind, and 
brilliant achievements of Scottish valor, in its various emigrations from a 
land ''miequar in size and resources to tlie wants, or rather to the enter- 
prise, of its intelligent and industrious inhabitants. 

The Aurora Borealis, or Northern Morn, in the islands north of Scotland, 
is said, for a coneiderable period of the year,-to be equal to the light of a 
full moon. 

. 908. Patriot : Thomson eloquently points out the various methods in 
which a godlike luxury may be experienced by the intelligent patriot, in 
promoting the welfare and progress of his countrymen. 



S40 autc^m:^. 

Through late posterity ? some, large of soul. 

To cheer dejected industry ? to give 

A double harvest to the pining swain ? 

And teach the laboring hand the sweets of toil ? 

How, by the jSnest art, the native robe 915 

To weave ; how, white as hyperborean snow. 

To form the lucid lawn ; with venturous oar 

How to dash wide the billow ; nor look on. 

Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets 

Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms, ^20 

That heave our friths and crowd upon our shores ? 

How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing 

The prosperous sail, from every growing port, 

Uninjured, round the sea-encircled globe; 

And thus, in soul united as in name, 925 

Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep ? 

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argyle, 
Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast. 
From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, 
Thy fond imploring country turns her eye ; 930 

In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees 
Her every virtue, every grace combined, 



917. Lucid lawn: The lawn is a fine variety of cambric, which was 
formerly manufactured (probably in the time of Thomson) by the Flemish 
exclusively ; but in late years the lawn manufacture in Scotland has been 
brought to as high perfection as in Flanders, 

919. Batavian fleets : The shipping of Holland, which the ancient Batavi 
inhabited. The herring fishery on the shores of Scotland is here referred 
to, in which, at the time the poet wrote, about one hundred thousand 
fishermen were employed by the Dutch. 

927. Argyle: The Duke of Argyle, one of the most prominent nobles oi 
Scotland in the reign of George I. He was honored in 1714 with the 
appointment of commander-in-chief of the royal forces in Scotland to resist 
the designs of the Pretender, James, to the throne of Great Britain, which 
his father, James IT., had been compelled to abdicate. Argyle displayed 
great wisdom, patriotism, and valor in the post assigned him, and gained 
great honor from the success which crowned his measures. 



AUTTMX. . 241 

Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn, 

Her pride of honor, and her courage tried, 

Calm, and intrepid, in the very thront 935 

Of sulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field. 

Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow : 

For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue 

Persuasion flpws, and wins the high debate ; 

While mix'd in thee combine the charm of youth, 940 

The force of manhood, and the depth of age. 

Thee, Forbes, too, whom every worth attends, 

As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind ; 

Thee, truly generous, and in silence great. 

Thy country feels through her reviving arts, 945 

P^ann'd by thy wisdom, by thy soul inform'd ; 

And seldom has she known a friend like thee. 

THE WOODS CHANGING COLOR AND LOSING THEIR FQLIAGK. 

But see the fading, many color'd woods. 
Shade deepening over shade, the country round 

942. ivories; Judge Duncan Forbes, of Edinburgh, President of tho 
Court of Sessions, and one of the earliest patrons of Thomson on his literary 
debut at London. 

948. Many colored woods : The graphic description which Prof. Wilson 
gives of Belle Isle in Autumn deserves a place here as illustrative of tho 
subject: — "There is a slight frost in the air, in the sky, on the lake, and 
mid-day is as still as midnight. But, though still, it is cheerful. * * * 
Could you not think that a splendid sunset had fallen in fragments on the 
isle that is called Beautiful, and set it all ablaze ! The woods are on fire» 
yet they burn not ; beauty subdues while it fosters the flame ; and there, 
as in ^ many-tented tabernacle, has color pitched his royal residence, and 
reigns in glory beyond that of any oriental king. What are all the cano- 
pies, and balconies, and galleries of human state, all hung with the richest 
drapery that ever the skill of Art, that wizard, drew forth in gorgeous 
folds from his enchanted loom, if ideally suspended in the air of imagina- 
tion, beside the sun-and-storm-stained furniture of these palaces of Autumn 
framed by the spirit of the season, of her own living umbrage, for his own 
last delight, ere he move in annual migration, with all his court, to Bom« 
foreign clime far beyond the seas !" 

n 



24:2 AUTUMN. 

Imbrown ; a crowded umbrafre, dusk, and dun, 950 

Of every hue, from wan declining green 

To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse, 

Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks, 

And give the Season in its latest view. 

Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm 955 



950-2, Umbrage, dusk, and dun, &c. : Dr. Greenwood, in his edition of 
Duncan's Seasons, makes the following excellent remarks on this passage : 
We must remember that the above is a description of the autumnal 
woods of England, and not of the autumnal forests of New England. Ours 
are indeed the "many-colored woods;" but "a varied umbrage, dusk and 
dun," are not the words to convey any idea of them. In localities where 
certain -trees predominate, the forest absolutely flames with lights and 
hues, which have no counterpart in natural scenery, except in those which 
sometimes tinge the clouds as they gather round the setting sun. It 
seems as if all the brightest flowers of. Spring and Summer had revived 
again, to be hung upon the forest boughs, and grace the departure of the 
year ; "for this glory is but the prelude of death, and the preparation for 
a funeral. On entering our woods at this season, one might think that he 
was walking down the aisles of some vast cathedral. The sun shines 
through the foliage, as through old tinted windows, suffusing the air with 
warmth, and color, and worship. 

The change from the deep Summer green to the splendid variety of 
Autumn, is sometimes produced in a single night by the silent but all- 
powerful ministry of frost. But the superior gorgeousness of the foliage 
is owing not so much to any peculiarity of climate, as to the peculiar 
character of some of our native trees. Among those which contribute 
most strikingly to the show, are the maples, and the tupelo, errone- 
ously called hornbeam, the former bringing their vivid yellows and 
scarlets, and the latter its deep crimson. The wild creeper too, the ivy 
of our country, though not ivy, festoons the gray rocks and dark stumps 
with purple and crimson wreaths ; and the ferns' do their ample share. 
Individual trees are often objects of great interest in their autumnal 
dress. It is not uncommon to see the sugar-maple exhibit three distinct 
colors, yellow, scarlet, and green, at one and the same time, either mingled 
together, or in separate masses. 

The brilliant hues now mentioned are over and above the endless 
variety of browns which mark the falling season in temperate climates. 
The display is too bright, perhaps, for the canvas to imitate, but to the 
lover and observer of nature it is, while it lasts, a constant feast. Presently 
the brightness grows dim with the shortening days ; a dull brown begins 
to prevail — prevails — the leaves drop ; the pageant lias passed away. 



AUTL*MN. 243 

Fleeces unbounded ether ; whose least wave 

Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn 

The gentle current ; while illumined wide. 

The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun. 

And through their lucid veil his soften'd force 960 

Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time. 

For those whom wisdom and whom Nature charm. 

To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, 

^nd soar above this little scene of things ; 

To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet; 965 

To soothe the throbbing passions into peace, 

And woo lone quiet in her silent walks. 

Thus sohtary, and in pensive guise. 
Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead. 
And through the sadden'd^rove, where scarce is heard 970 
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil. 
Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint, 
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse ; 
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks. 
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late 975 
■ Swelled all the music of the swarming shades, 
Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shiv'ring sit 
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock ; 
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes. 
And naught save chattering discord in their note. 980 

0, let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye, 
The gun the mifsic of the coming year 

968-85. Having spoken of tlie tendency of the quiet scenes of Autumn 
to withdraw from sordid and vicious pursuits all in whose breasts there 
is any sympathy with Nature and admiration of her charms, the poet 
presL'iits us a fine picture of his own predilections and pursuits — a valuable 
though brief specimen of autobiography it is continued in tlie desciip- 
tiou of Philosophic Melanclioli/, under which term he evidently portrays 
the workings of his own mind and heart (1002-1029); he then proceeds 
to exhibit more fully the pursuits that attract him most, and wb?3h 
indicate a higlily cultivated and philosophic taste (1028-1079). 



244 AUTl "MN. 

Destroy ; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, 

Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey. 

In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground ! 985 

The p:ile-descending year, yet pleasing still, 
A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leaf 
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove ; 
Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, 
And slowly circles through the waving air. 990 

But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs 
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams ; 
Till, choked and matted with the dreary shower, 
The forest- walks, at every rising gale. 
Roll wide the wither'd waste, and whistle bleak. 995 

Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields ; 
And, shrunk into their bed% the flowery race 
Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remain'd 
Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree ; 
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around 1000 

The desolated prospect thrills the soul. 

PHILOSOPHIC MELANCHOLY ITS OPERATIONS AND EFFECTS. 

He comes ! he comes ! in every breeze the Power 
Of philosophic Melancholy comes ! 
His near approach the sudden-starting tear, 
The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, 1005 

The soften'd feature, and the beating heart. 



1001. The above paragraph is a true and touching picture of the close 
jf Autumn, but not more so than that which our own gifted Bryant has 
luruished, in the poem l^eginning with this stanza : — 

"The melancholy days have come, the saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere. 
Ileap'd in the liollows of the grove the wither'd leaves lie dead. 
They rustle to the eddying gu;,t and to the rabbit's tread. 
The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, 
And from the woo<l-to{) calls the crow through all the gloomy day." 



AUTUMN. 



245 



Pierced deep with many a virtuous pan^, declare. 

O'er all the soul his sacr-ed influence breathes I 

Inflames imngination ; through the breast 

Infuses every tenderness; and far 1010 

Beyond dim earth exalts the sweUing thought. 

Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such 

As never minified with the vulsfar dream. 

Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye. 

As fast the correspondent passions rise, 1015 

As varied, and as high : devotion raised 

To rapture and divine astonishment ; 

The love of Nature, unconfined, and, chief. 

Of human race; the large ambitious wish. 

To make them bless'd ; the sigh for suffering worth lOkO 

Lost in obscurity ; the noble scorn 

Of tyrant pride ; the fearless, great resolve ; 

The wonder which the dying patriot draws. 

Inspiring glory through remotest time ; 

The awaken'd throb for virtue and for fame ; 1025 

The sympathies of love and friendship dear. 

With all the social off"spring of the heart. 

Oh ! bear me then to vast embowering shades. 
To twilight groves, and visionary vales ; 
To weeping grottoes, and prophetic glooms; 1030 

Where annuel forms athwart the solemn dusk 
Tremendous sweep, or seem to sweep along;' 
And voices more than human, through the void 
Deep sounding, seize th' enthusiastic ear ! 

PITT AND LORD COBHAM. 

, Or is this gloom too much ? then lead, ye powers, 1035 
That o'er the garden and the rural seat 

1019. At the commencement of this line, to apprehend the meaning 
easily, you must supply tlie first three words c' the previous line. 



2-i6 AUTUMN. 

Pi'eside, which shuiing through the cheerful land 

In countless numbers bless'd Britannia sees ; 

O, lead me to the wide-extended walks, 

The fair, majestic paradise of Stowe ! 1040 

Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore 

E'er saw such silvan scenes ; such various art 

By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed 

By cool judicious art ; that, in the strife, 

All-beauteous Nature fears to be undone. 1045 

And there, Pitt, thy country's early boast, 

There let me sit beneath the shelter'd slopes, 

Or in that Temple where, in future times. 

Thou well shalt merit a distinguish'd name ; 

And, with thy converse bless'd, catch the last smiles 1050 

Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods. 

While there with thee th' enchanted round I walk. 

The regulated wild, gay fancy then 

Will tread in thought the groves of Attic land ; 

Will from thy standard taste refine her own, 1055 

Correct her pencil to the purest truth 



1010. Stowe: The seat of Lord Cobliam. 

1046. Pitt: William Pitt, Earl of Chatham (born 1708; died 1778). 
He entered the British Parliament at twenty-one years of age, where he 
subsequently excelled all others in debate. In 1740 he dehvered his cel- 
ebrated speech in reply to Robert Walpole, who had spoken disparaging- 
ly of him on account of his youth. His style of oratory (says Cham- 
bers) was of the highest class : rapid, vehement, and overpowering ; and 
it was adorned by all the graces of action and dehvery. His public 
conduct was singularly pure and disinterested, considering the venality of 
the times in which he lived ; but as a statesman he was often inconsistent 
and haughty. His acceptance of a peerage (in 1766) hurt his popularity 
with the nation, who loved and reverenced him as " the s:reat common- 
er ;" but he s till " shook the senate" with the resistless appeals of his 
eloquence. 

He was opposed to the war with America, to the stamp act, and esjy*. 
cially to the employment of Indian savages in carrying on the war Hia 
epeeches on these topics are familiar. 

1048. Temple: The Temple of Virtue in Stowe Gardens. 



AUTUMN. 



247 



Of Nature, oi", the unimpassion'd shades 

Forsaking, raise it to the liuman mind. 

Or if hereafter she, with juster hand, 

Shall draw the tragic scene, instruct her thou, 1060 

To mark the varied movements of the heart. 

What every decent character requires, 

And every passion speaks : 0, through her strain 

Breathe thy pathetic eloquence ! that m-oulds 

Th* attentive senate, charms, persuades, exalts; 1065 

Of honest zeal th' indignant lightning throws. 

And shakes corruption on her venal throne. 

While thus we talk, and through Elysian vales 

Delighted rove, perhaps a sigh escapes ; 

What pity, Cobham, thou thy verdant files 1070 

Of order' d trees shouldst here inglorious range, 

Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field. 

And long embattled hosts ! when the proud foe, 

The faithless, vain disturber of mankind. 

Insulting Gaul, has roused the world to war! 1075 

*When keen, once more, with^ their bounds to press 

Those polish'd robbers, those ambitious slaves, 

The British youth would hail thy wise command, 

Thy tempered ardor, and thy veteran skill ! 

AUTUMNAL MOONLIGHT, AND METEORIC APPEARANCES. 

The western sun withdraws the shorten'd day ; 1080 
And humid evening, gliding o'er the sky. 
In her chill progress, to the ground condensed 



1070. Cobham : Concerning Lord Cobham it appears from the follow- 
mg lines that his reputation and skill related not to eloquence or statea- 
manship, as in the former case, but to military affairs. 

1075. Insulting Gaul : Louis XIV., king of France, who eneouraged 
and aided the Pretender to fight his way to the English throne, iii th« 
time of George L 



243 AUTUMN. 

The vapors throws. Where creeping waters ooze. 

Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers wind. 

Cluster the rolhng fogs, and swim along 1085 

The dusky mantled lawn. Meanwhile the<rfnoon 

Full-orb'd, and breaking through the scattered clouds. 

Shows her broad visage in the crimson east. 

Turn'd to the sun direct her spotted disk. 

Where mountains rise, umbrageous dr*les deacend, 1090 

And caverns deep, as optic tube descries, 

A smaller earth, gives us his blaze again. 

Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day. 

Now through the passing cloud she seems to stoop. 

Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime. 1096 

Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild 

O'er the skied mountain to the shadowy vale. 

While rocks and floods reflect the quivering gleam, 

The whole air whitens with a boundless tide 

Of silver radiance, trembhng round the world. 1100 

But when, half blotted from the sky, her light. 
Fainting, permits the starry fires to burn 
With keener lustre through the depth of heaven ; 
Or near extinct her deaden'd orb appears, 
And scarce appears, of sickly, beamless white ; 1105 

Oft in this season, silent from the north 
A blaze of meteors shoots. Ensweeping first 
The lower skies, they all at once converge 
High to the crown of heaven, and all at once 
Relapsing quick, as quickly reascend, 1110 

And mix and thwart, extinguish and renew, 
All ether coursinof in a maze of liofht. 
From look to look, contagious through the crowd. 
The panic runs, and into wondrous shapes 
Th' appearance throws: armies in meet array, 1116 

Throng'd with aerial spears and steeds of fire. 
Till the long lines of full extended war 



AUTUMN. 249 

In b'leeding fight commix'd, the sanguine flood 

Rolls a broad slaughter o'er the plains of heaven. 

As thus they scan the visionary scene, 1120 

On all sides s-wells the superstitious din. 

Incontinent ; and busy phrensy talks 

Of blood and battle ; cities overturn'd. 

And late at night in swallowing earthquake sunk, 

Or hideous wrapp'd in fierce ascending fliTme ; 1125 

Of sallow famine, inundation, storm ; 

Of pestilence, and every great distress ; 

Empires subversed, when ruling fate has struck 

The unalterable hour. E'en Nature's self 

Is deem'd to totter on the brink of time. 1130 

Not so the man of philosophic eye. 

And inspect sage : the waving brightness he 

Curious surveys, inquisitive to know 

The causes and materials, yet unfix'd, 

Of this appearance, beautiful and new. 1 1 35 

THE MOONLESS NIGHT : THE BENIGHTED TRAVELLEP 

Now black and deep the night begins to fjill, 
A shade immense. Sunk in the quenching gloom. 
Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. 
Order confounded lies ; all beauty void ; 
Distinction lost ; and gay variety * 1 W 

One universal blot : such the fair power . 

Of light, to kindle and create the whole. 
Drear is the state of the benighted wretch. 
Who then, bewilder'd, wanders through the dark, 
Full of pale fancies and chimeras huge ; 114: 

Nor visited by one directive ray. 
From cottage streaming or from airy hall. 
Perhaps impatient as he stumbles on, 
Struck from 'he root of- slimy rushes, blue, 
11* 



250 AUTUMN. 

The wildfire scatters round, or gather'd trails ' 1150 

A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss ; 

Whither decoj^'d by the fantastic blaze, 

Now lost and now renew 'd, he sinks absorb'd, 

Rider and horse, amid the miry gulf : 

While still, from day to day, his pining wife, 1155 

And plaintive children his return await, 

In wild conjecture lost. At other times. 

Sent by the better genius of the night, 

Innoxious, gleaming on the horse's mane. 

The meteor sits ; and shows the narrow path, ^ 1160 

That winding leads through pits of death, or else. 

Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford. 

The lengthen'd night elapsed, the morning shines 
Serene, in all her dewy beauty bright, 
Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. 1165 

And now the mounting sun dispels the fog ; 
The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam ; 
And hung on every spray, on every blade 
Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round. 

1152. Fantastic blaze: Reference is made to wliat is sometimes called 
Ignis Fatuus (vain or ilhisive fire) — a kiud of luminous meteor (I use the 
language of Brande) wliich flies about in the air a little above the surface 
of the earth, and appears chiefly in marshy places, or near stagnant wa- 
ters, or in churchyards, during the nights of summer. There are many 
instances of travellers having been decoyed by these lights into marshy 
places, where they perished , and hence the names Jack-with-a-lantern, 
Will-with-a-icUp ; the people ascribing the appearance to the agency of 
evil spirits, who take this mode of alluring men to their destruction- 
The :ause of the phenomenon does not seem to be perfectly understood ; 
it h generally supposed to be produced by the decomposition of animal 
or of vegetable matters, or by the evolution of gases which spontaneously 
inflame in the atmosphere. 

Milton thus describes the phenomenon : 

" A wandering firo, 
ITovering and blazing with delusive light, 
Misleads tlie amazed niglit-wanderer from his way 
To bogs and mires, and oft througli pond or pool, 
Tlwre ffwallcrw'd up and lost^ ftvm sncoor fun" 



AUTurrtN. 251 



THE INVADED BEE-HIVE. 



Ah, see where, robb'd and murder'd, in that pit 1170 
Lies the still heaving hive ! at evening snatch'd 
Beneath the cloud of guilt-conceahng night, 
And fix'd o'er sulphur ; while, not dreaming ill. 
The happy people in their waxen cells. 
Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes 1175 

Of temperance, for Winter poor ; rejoiced 
To mark, full flowing round, their copious stores. 
Sudden the dark, oppressive steam ascends ; 
And, used to milder scents, the tender race, 
By thousands, tumble from their honied domes, 1180 

Convolved, and agonizing in the dust. 
And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring, 
Intent from flower to flower ? for this you toil'd 
Ceaseless the burning Summer heats away ? 
For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste, 1185 
Nor lost one sunny gleam ? for this sad fate ? 
O man ! tyrannic lord ! how long, how long 
Shall prostrate Nature groan beneath your rage. 
Awaiting renovation ? When obliged, 
Must you destroy ? Of their ambrosial food 1190 

Can you not borrow ; and in just return 
Afl'ord them shelter from the wintry winds ; 
Or, as the sharp year pinehes, with their own 
Again regale them on some smiling day ? 
See where the stony bottom of their town 1195 

Looks desolate and wild ; with here and there 
A helpless number, who the ruin'd state 
Survive, lamenting weak, cast out to death. 
Thus a proud pity, populous and rich, 
Full of the \TOrks of peace, and high in joy, 1200 

At theatre or feast, or sunk in sleep, 
{As late, Palermo, was thy fate,) is seized 



£52 AUTUIvIN. 

By some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurl'd. 
Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involved, 
Into a gulf of blue sulphureous liamo. 1205 

THE LAST DAY OF AUTUMN. 

Hence every harsher sight ! for now the day. 
O'er heaven and earth diffused, grows warm and high. 
Infinite splendor wide investing all. 
How still the breeze ! save what the filmy threads 
Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain. 1210 

How clear the cloudless sky ! how deeply tinged 
With a peculiar blue ! th' etherial arch 
How swell'd immense 1 amid whose azure throned. 
The radiant sun how gay ! How calm below 
The gilded earth 1 the harvest treasures all 1215 

Now gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms. 
Sure to the swain ; the circling fence shut up ; 
And instant Winter's utmost rage defied. 
While, loose to festive joy, the country round 
Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth, 1220 

Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youth. 
By the quick sense of music taught alone. 
Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance. 
Her every charm abroad, the village toast. 
Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich, 1225 

Darts not unmeaning looks ; and where her eye 

1202. Palermo: The capital of the island of Sicily, a city of great 
ll>eai}ty. Between it and the mountains the country, it is said, is one of 
the richest plains in the world, the wliole appearing a magnificent -garden, 
filled with fruitful trees and watered by fountains and rivulets. It 
abounds in rich and magnificent church edifices. At various periods it has 
been injured by earthquakes and inundations. 

1224. The village toast : That is, the subject of tlf* village toast — a peT*- 
son in honor of whom wine is draiik — (expressive of a desire for her healtii 
*nd kappioiess. 



AUTtIMN'. 253 

Points an approving smile, with douole force. 

The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines. 

Age. too shines out ; and, garrulous, recounts 

The ,feat» of youth. Thus they rejoice ; nor think 1230 

That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil 

"Begins again the never ceasing round. 

THE PURE PLEASURES OF RURAL LIFB. 

Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men 
The happiest he ! who far from public rage, 
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, 1235 

Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life. 
What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate. 
Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd 
Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused ? 
Vile intercourse ! What though the glittering robe 1240 
Of every hue reflected light can give. 
Or floating loose, or stiff* with mazy gold. 
The pride and gaze of fools ! oppress him not ? 
What though, from utmost land and sea purvey *d. 
For him each rarer tributary life 1245 

Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps 
With luxury, and death ? What though his bowl 
Flames not with costly juice ; nor sunk in beds. 
Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, 
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state? 1250 

What Uiough he knows not those fantastic joys, 
That still amuse the wanton, still deceive ; 
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain ; 
Their hollow moments undelighted all ? 
Sure peace is hi^ ; a solid life, estranged 1555 

To disappointment, and fallacious hope ; 
Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, 
In herbs and fruits. Whatever greens the Spring, 



254 AUTUMN. 

When heaven descends in showers ; or bends the bough 
When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams; 1260 
* Or in tlie Wintry glebe whatever Ues 
Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap : 
These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove, 
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ; 
Nor bleating mountains ; nor the chide of streams, 1265 
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere 
Into the guiltless breast, beneatl; the shade. 
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay. 
Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song. 
Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear. 1270 
Here too dweils simple Truth ; plain Innocence ; 
Unsullied Beauty ; sound unbroken Youth, 
Patient of labor, with a little pleased ; 
Health ever blooming ; unambitious Toil, 
Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease^ 1275 

Let others brave the flood in quest of gain. 
And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave: 
Let such as deem it glory to destroy. 
Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek ; 
Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, 1280 

The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry : 
Let some, far distant from their native soil, 
Uro-ed or by want or harden'd avarice. 
Find other lands beneath another sun : 
Let this through cities work his eager way, * 1285 

By legal outrage and establish'd guile, 
The social sense extinct ; and that ferment 
Mad into tumult the seditious herd. 
Or melt them down to slavery : let these 
Insnare the wretched in the toils of law, 1290 

Fomenting discord, and perplexing right. 
An iron race ! and those of fairer front, 
But equal inhumanity, in courts. 



AUTUMN. S65 

Delusive pomp, and dark cabals, delight ; 

Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile, 1295 

And tread the weary labyrinth of state : — * 

While he, from all the stormy passions free 

That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, 

At distance safe, the human tempest roar, 

Wrapp'd close in conscious peace. Tlie fall of kings, 1300 

The rage of nations, and the cru h of states, 

Move not the man who, from the world escaped. 

In still retreats, and flowery solitudes, 

To Nature's voice attends, from month to month 

And day to day, through the revolving year: 1305 

Admiring, sees her in her every shape ; 

Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart ; 

Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. 

He,' when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, 

Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale 1310 

Into his freshen'd soul. Her genial hours 

He full enjoys ; and not a beauty blows. 

And not an opening blossom breathes in vain. 

In Summer he, beneath the living shade. 

Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave, 1315 

Or Hemus cool, reads what the Muse, of these. 

Perhaps, has in immortal numbers sung ; 

Or what she dictates writes: and, oft an eye 

Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year. 

When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world, 1320 

And tempts the sickled swain into the field. 

Seized by the general joy, his heart distends 

With gentle throes ; and, through the tepid gleams 

Deep musing, then he best exerts his song. 



1315. Tetnpk: See note on line 906, "Spring" 

1316. Hemus: Turn to note en 783, " Autumiu" 

1B24> Tbia line would suggest to us that ThoLison found the leasoo of 



256 AUTUMN. 

E'en Winter wild, to him is full of bliss. 1325 

The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste, 

Abrupt and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth, 

Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies 
• Disclosed, and kindled by refining frost, 

Pour every lustre on th' exalted eye. 1330 

A friend, a book, the stealing hours secure, 

And mark them down for wisdom. With swift witg, 

O'er land and sea imagination roams ; 

Or truth, divinely breaking on his mind. 

Elates his being, and unfolds his powers ; 1335 

Or in his breast heroic virtue burns. 
. The touch of kindred too and love he feels ; 

The modest eye, whose beams on his alone 

Ecstatic shine ; the little strong embrace 

Of prattling children, twined around his neck, 1340 

And emulous to please him, calling forth 

The fond parental soul. Nor purpose gay. 

Amusement, dance, or song, he sternly scorns ; 

For happiness and true philosophy 

Are of the social, still, and smiling kind. 1345 

This is the life which those who fret in guilt. 

And guilty cities, never knew ; the life. 

Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt. 

When Angels dwelt, and God himself with man ! 

Oh Nature ! all-sufficient ! over all ! 1350 

Enrich me with the knowledge of thy works ! 

Snatch me to heaven. Thy rolling wonders there. 

World beyond world, in infinite extent. 

Profusely scatter'd o'er the blue immense, 

Autumn best adapted to awaken poetic inspiration and to facilitate poetic 
compositions. 

1360. Nature: The Author of nature, under this term, is here ad- 
dressed ; for to Him alone, and not to the universe created by Him and 
ever dependent on Hioi, can the language here used be justly applied. 



AUTUMN. 257 

Show me; their motions, periods, and their laws, 1355 

Give me to scan ; through the disclosing deep 

Light my blind way. The mineral strata there ; 

Thrust, blooming, thence the vegetable world ; 

O'er that the rising system, more complex, 

Of animals ; and higher still, the mind, 1360 

The varied scene of quick-compounded thought. 

And ;vhere the mixing passions endless shift : 

These ever open to my ravish'd eye ; 

A search the flight of time can ne'er exhaust ! 

But if to that unequal ; if the blood, 1365 

In sluggish streams about my heart, forbid 

That best ambition ; under closing shades. 

Inglorious, lay me by the lowly brook, 

And whisper to my dreams. From Thee begin. 

Dwell all on Thee, with Thee conclude my song ; 1370 

And let me never, never stray from Thee 1 



MQKnrdi^ 



WINTER. 



INTEODUCTOEY EEMAEKS. 

Winter, directly opposite as it is in other retipects to Summer, 
vet resembles it in this, that it is a season in which Nature is 
employed rather in secretly preparing for the mighty changes 
which it successively brings to light, than in the actual exhibi- 
tion of them. It is, therefore, a period equally barren of events, 
and has still less of animation than Summer, inasmuch as lethar- 
gic insensibility is a state more distant from vital energy than 
the languor of indolent repose. From the fall of the leaf and 
withering of the herb, an unvarying death-like torpor oppresses 
almost the whole vegetable creation, and a considerable part of 
the animal, during this entire portion of the year. The whole 
insect race, which filled every part of the Summer landscape with 
life and motion, are now either buried in profound sleep, or ac- 
tually no longer exist, except in the unformed rudiments of a 
future progeny. Many of the birds and quadrupeds are retired 
to concealments from which not even the calls of hunger can 
force them ; and the rest, intent only on the preservation of a 
ioyless being, have ceased to exert those powers of pleasing, 
which, at other seasons, so much contribute to their mutual hap- 
piness, as well as to the amusement of their human sovereign. 
Their social connections, however, are improved by their wants. 
In order the better to procure their scanty subsistence and resist 
the inclemencies of the sky, they are taught by instinct to assem- 
ble in flocks ; and this provision has the secondary effect of 
gratifying the spectator with something of novelty and action 
even in the dreariness of a winter prospect. 



262 wiNn:R — intrudcctory kemakks. 

But it is in the extraordinary changes and agitations which 
the elements and the surrounding atmosphere undergo during 
this season, that the poet of nature must piincipally look for 
relief from the gloomy uniformity reigning through other parts 
of the creation. Here scenes are presented to his view, which, 
were they less frequent, must strike with wonder and admiration 
the most incurious spectator. Tlie effects of cold are more sud- 
den, and in many instances more extraordinary and unexpected, 
than those of heat. ♦He who has beheld the vegetable products 
of even a northern summer, will not be greatly aYnazed at the 
richer and more luxuriant, but still resembling, giowths of the 
tropics. But one who has always been accustomed to view 
water in a liquid and colorless state, cannot form the least con- 
ception of the same element as hardened into an extensive plain 
of solid crystal, or covei-ing the ground with a robe of the purest 
white. The highest possible degree of astonishment must there- 
fore attend the first view of these phenomena : and as in the 
temperate climate of Britain but a small portion of the year 
affords these spectacles, we find that even in this island they 
have novelty enough to excite emotions of agreeable surprise. 

But it is not to novelty alone that they owe their charms. 
Their intrinsic beauty is, perhaps, individually superior to that 
of the gayest objects presented by the other seasons. \Vherc is 
the elegance and brilUancy that can compare with that which 
decorates every tree or bush on the clear morning succeeding a 
night of hoar frost ? or what is the lustre that would not appear 
dull and tarnished in competition with a field of snow just glazed 
over with frost ? By the vivid description of such objects as 
these, contrasted with the savage sublimity of storms and tem- 
pests, our poet has been able to produce a set of winter land- 
scapes as engaging to the fancy as the apparently happier scenes 
of genial warmth and verdure. 

But he h;!S not trusted entirely to these resources for combat- 
ing the natural sterility of Winter. Repeating the pleasing ar- 
tifice of his Summer, he has called in foreign aid, and has 



WINTER INTKoDrCiOKY KEMARKS. 2G3 

heightened the scenery with grandeur and horror not belonging 
to Britain. The famished troops of wolves pouring from the 
Alps; the mountains of snow rolling down the precipices of the 
same regions; the dreary plains over which the Laplander urges 
his reindeer; the wonders of the icy sea, and volcanoes "flamino- 
through a waste of snow," are objects judiciously selected from 
all that Nature presents most singular and stiiking in the various 
domains of boreal cold and wintry desolation. 

Af KIN. . 



The general aspect of Winter is forbidding. It is the ni^rht 
of the year ; the period when, under a mitigated light, Nature 
reposes after the active exertions of Spring and Summer have 
been crowned with the rich stores of Autumn. We now no 
longer survey with admiration and delight those wonders of 
creative power which arrested our attention in that youthful 
season when herbs, plants, and trees awoke fi'om their long sleep 
and started into new li(e, under the kindly influences of warmer 
suns and gentler breezes ; and when the feathered tribes made 
the fresh-clothed woods and lawns, and the blue sky itself, vocal 
with the music of love and joy. Nor do we now expatiate in 
the maturer beautie§ of Summer, when light and heat flushed 
the glowing heavens and smiling earth, and when the clouds 
distilled their grateful showers, or tempered the intense radiance 
by their flitting shade. And mellow Autumn, too, has passed 
away, along with the merry song of the reapers and the hum of 
busy men, gathering their stores from the teeming fields. 

Instead of these genial influences of heaven, our lengthening 
nights, and our days becoming perpetually darker and shorter, 
shed their gloom over the face of nature; the earth grows nig- 
gardly of her supplies of nourishment and shelter, and no lon<rer 
spreads beneath the tenants of the field the soft carpet on which 
they were accustomed to repose ; man seeks his artificial com- 
fori* and his hoarded food ; the wind whistles ominously through 



264 WINTER INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 

the nalied trees ; the dark clouds lower ; the chilling rain de- 
scends in torrents ; and, as the season advances, the earth be- 
comes rigid as if struck by the wand of an enchanter ; the wa- 
ters, spell-bound, lie motionless in crystal chains; the north 
pours forth its blast, and nature is entombed in a vast cemetery, 
whiter and colder than Parian marble. 

Yet, even in this app*arently frightful and inhospitable season, 
there are means of pleasure and improvement wliich render it 
scarcely inferior to any other period of the revolving year ; 
while proofs of the power, wisdom, and goodness of the great 
Creator are not less abundantly displayed to the mind of the 
pious inquirer. Nothing, indeed, can be more worthy of admi- 
ration than the manner in which the rigors of winter are tem- 
pered, so as to contribute to the subsistence and comfort of 

livmg beings. 

Dr. Duncan. 



Poetry, which though not dead, had, long been sleeping in 
Scotland, was restored to waking life by Thomson. His genius 
was national ; and so, too, was the subject of his first and great- 
est song. By saying that his genius was national, we mean 
that its temperament was enthusiastic and passionate ; and that, 
though highly imaginative, the sources of its power lay in the 
heart. The Castle of Indolence is distinguished by purer taste 
and finer fancy ; but with all its exquisite beauties, that poem is . 
but the vision of a dream. The Seasons are glorious realities ; 
and the charm of the strain that sings the "rolling year" is its 
truth. But what mean we by saying that the Seasons are a na- 
tional subject ? Do we assert that they are solely Scottish ? 
That would be too bold, even for us ; but we scruple not to as- 
sert, that Thomson has made them so, as far as might be, with- 
out insult, injury, or injustice to the rest of the globe. His suns 
rise and set in Scottish heavens : his " deep-fermenting tempests, 
are brewed in grim evening" Scottish skies; Scottish is his 



"WINTER INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 2G5 

thunder of cloud and cataract; his "vapors, and snows, and 
storms," are Scottish ; and, strange as the assertion would have 
sounded in the ears of Samuel Johnson, Scottish are his woods, 
their souo-h, and their roar ; nor less their stillness, more awful 
amidst the vast multitude of steady stems, than when all the 
sullen pine-tops are swinging to the hurricane. A dread love 
of his native land was in his heart when he cried in the solitude : 

**Hail, kindred glooms 1 congenial horrors liail I" 

PRoy. WiLsos. 



12 



inttx. 



THE AEGUMENT. 



The *abject proposed. — Address to the Earl of ■Wilmington.— First approach of ■Winttf. 
— According to the natural course of the season, various storms described. — Kain.— 
Wind. — Snow, — ^The driving of the snows ; a man perishing among them ; whence 
reflections on the wants and miseries of human life. — The wolves descending from 
the Alps and Apennines. — A wnter evening described ; as spent by philosophers ; by 
the country people ; in the city.— Frost— A view of Winter within the polar circle.— 
A thaw. — ^The whole concluding with moral reflections on a future state. 



See ! Winter comes to rule the varied year. 
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train ; 
Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme ; 
These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought, 

1-1 6. Upon this passage Prof. Wilson exclaims : — Divine inspiration in- 
deed ! Poetry, that if read bj the bedside of a dying lover of natui'ft 
might 

" Create a soul 
Under the ribs of death l" 

To this exclamation, the professor subjoins some admirable strictures upon 
the assertion of Wordsworth, that the true spirit of the " Seasons," till 
long after their publication, was neither felt nor understood : that the 
measure of its early popularity was to be attributed to a " blind wonder- 
ment, the natural produce of ignorance," to the fortunate title which he 
hid selected for his Poem, and to the abundant use of false ornaments of 
that kind which would be most likely to strike the undiscerning, and, fur- 
ther, to the sentimental common-places, which, from the manner in which 
ih^j were brought forward, bore an imposing air of novelty. 



208 WINTER. 

And heavc^nly mrtsing. Welcome, kindred glooms, 5 

Con<xeni:il horroi>;, h;iil ! AVith frequent foot. 
Pleased have 1, i:i my cheerful morn of life, 
When nursed by careless solitude I lived. 

The substance of the strictures is, that though descriptive poetry may 
not have flourished during the period between Paradise Lost aud the 
Seasons, mankind, nevertheless, had been in the enjoyment and use of 
their seven senses, and couid see and hear "without the aid of those ocu- 
lists and aurists, the poets ; that the shepherds and agriculturists of Eng- 
land and Scotland — the gentlemen and ladies, the king and queen — had 
not been blind and deaf to all the sights and sounds of nature — had not 
forgotten the heavens and the earth, until Thomson reminded them of 
them ; that, as to the title of the Poem, Genius and not Fortune had se- 
lected it — that the " Seasons" are not merely the " title" of liis poem — 
but the Seasons are his poem, and his poem is the Seasons ; furthei", that 
if men knew little, and cared less about the Seasons, as Wordsworth as- 
Berted, both the title and the substance of the Poem would have been 
unfortunate for its popularity : that Thomson, in his Seasons, often writes 
in bad taste, is true, but it is not true that he always, or generally, does 
60 ; that many did, do, and will atbnire the bad or indifferent passages in 
the Seasons, won by their false glitter, or commcjn-place sentimentalism — 
Buch passages for example as the story of Damon and Musidora — is, no 
doubt true ; but tliis will not account for the admiration with which the 
whole world hailed the " Whiter," the first of the Seasons published, 
during which Thomson had not the bai-barity to plunge every young lady 
naked into the cold bath, nor the.ignorance to represent, during such cold 
weather, any young lady turning her lover sick by the ardor of her looks, 
and the vehemence of her whole enamored deportment. 

Prof. Wilson goes on to say : — There is no mystery in the matter- 
Thomson, a great poet, poured liis genius over a subject of universal in- 
terest ; and the " Seaisons," from that hoyr to this — then, now, and for- 
ever — have been, are, and will be, loved and admired by all the world. 
Let the taste and feelings shown by the collectors of Elegant Extracts 
be poor as possible, yet Thomson's countrymen, high and low, rich and 
poor, have all along not only gloried m his illustrious fame, but have 
made a very manual of his great work. We have ourse5Ves seen it in the 
shepherd's shelling, and in the woodman's bower — small, yellowdeaved, 
tattered, mean, miserable, calf-skin-bound, smoked copies — yet pejused, 
pored, and pondered over by those humble dwellers, by the winter-ingle 
or the summer brae, perhaps with as enlightened, certainly with as ira 
agination-mastering, a delight, as ever enchained the sphits of the high- 
born and highly taught to their splendid copies lying on riclily carved 
tables, and bound in crimson silk or velvet. " The art of seeing" has 



WINTER. 269 

And sung of N:;tiire with unceasing jo r, 

Pleased have I vrander'd through youc rough domain; 10 

Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure; 

Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst; 

Or seen the deep- fermenting tempest brew'd, 

In the grim evening sk^-JTbus pass'd the time. 

Till through the lucid chambers of the south 15 

Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smUed. 

ADDRESS TO THE EARL OF WILMINGTON. 

To thee, the patron of her first essay. 
The Muse, Wilmington ! renews her song. 

flourished for many centuries in Scotland. Men, Tvomen, and children, all 
look up to her lovely blue or wrathful black skies with a weather-wis-- 
dom that keeps growing from the cradle to the grave. Tn like manner 
have the people of Scotland, from time imiiiemorial, enjoved the use of 
their ears. Even persons somewhat hard of hearing, are not deaf to her 
waterfalls. In the sublime invocation to VQntcr, which we have quoted, 
we hear Thomson recording his own worship of :*at ure in liis boyish days] 
when he roamed among the liilis of his father's pari.h, far awav from the' 
manse. 

11. Mijf,df as pure : Thomson was religiously educated ; his childhood 
was passed in scenes free from temptation to gross vice ; his mind was 
early turned to the contemplation of the uncorrupting phenomena of 
physical K-ature in her beauty and variety— a healthful and ennobling 
occupation for the mind and heart ; and no doubt in his boyhood he w.'il 
exempt from outward immoralities ; but he was greatly deceived in the 
fovorable estimate here expressed of his moral character at that period, 
if it be brought to the standard of the divme law, which is " exceeding 
broad," and, m its searchings, deep and thorough into the human heart! 
The Bible leads us to a quite different estimate from that here put upon 
himself ^ 

18. Wihninrjton : Sir Spencer Compton, then speaker of the House of 
Commons, and afterwards Earl of Wilmington, to whom the second edi- 
tion of " Winter" was dedicated, bringing to the author a present, from 
the earl, of twenty guineas. " Winter" was the « first essay" of Thom- 
son's Muse. The lines that follow could not, obviously, have appeared in 
the first edition, as they refer to other parts of the Poem not then pub- 
lished or even comi)osed. For the first edition of « Winter" the author 



270 WINTKE. 

Since has she rounded the revolving } eai 

Skimm'd the gay Spring ; on eagle pinions borne, . 20 

Attempted through the Summer blaze to rise ; 

Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale ; 

And now among the Wintry clouds again, 

Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar ; 

To swell her note with all the rushing winds ; 25 

To suit her soundino- cadence to the floods. 

o 

As is her theme, her numbers wildly great : 

Thrice happy could she fill thy judging ear 

With bold description and with manly thought. 

Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone, 80 

And how to make a mighty people thrive ; 

But equal goodness, sound integrity, 

A firm unshaken, uncorrupted soul 

Amid a sliding age, and burning strong 

(Not vainly blazing) for thy country's weal, 35 

A steady spirit regularly free ; 

These, each exalting each, the statesman light 

Into the patriot ; these, the public hope 

And eye to thee converting, bid the Muse 

Record what envy dares not flattery call. 40 

THE FIRST APPROACH OF WINTER. 

Now when the cheerless empire of the sky 
To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields, 

received but three guineas; and it remained unsold until Mr. "Whately, a 
gentleman of taste, and an author, discerned its beauties and talked about 
them in the Hterary circles he was accustomed to visit. 

Wlien fairly brought into public notice, " Winter," we are informed, 
was universally admired, and its reputation gained for the author the ac- 
quaintance of several ladies of rank ; but the most valuable effect of this 
publication was the friendship of Dr. Thomas Rundle, afterwards Bishop 
of Derry, by whom his fame was promoted, and an introduction given to 
Sir Charles, subsequently Lord Chancellor, Talbot, wliich rendered to the 
poet very essential serrice. 



WINTER. 271 

And fierce Aquarius s.tains th' inverted j^ear ; 

Hunfr o'er the furthest venxe of heaven, the sun 

Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day. 45 

Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot 

His struggling rays, in horizontal lines, 

Through the thick air ; as clothed in cloudy storm, 

Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky ; 

And, soon descending, to the long, dark night, 50 

Wide shading all, the prostrate world resigns. 

Nor is the night unwish'd ; while vital heat. 

Light, life, and joy the dubious day forsake. 

Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast, 

Deep-tinged and damp, and congregated clouds, 55 

^. 42. Capricorn : Tlie Wild Goat, the first of tlie Winter signs of the 
Zodiac, into which the Sun introduces himself on the 21st of December. 
The one preceding it is Sagittarius, the Archer, usually represented on 
celestial globes and maps by the figure of a Centaur shooting an arrow. 
The Centaur — an animal, half man, half horse — was one of the fabulous 
creations of the ancient Greeks. 

43. Aquarius: The Water-bearer, is the Winter sign next to Capri- 
corn. :A. part of January and of February is occupied by the sun in pass- 
ing througli this sign. During this portion of the year excessive rains fall 
in the latitude of the countries of Europe and Asia, where the signs of 
the Zodiac first received their present names. The name of this sign 
is thus accounted for. Read on (72-105) ; whence it appears that' in 
Britain also the name of this sign is not inappropriate. "Brande (an 
English autlior) makes the four seasons of the year to commence, respec- 
tively, on the 2l6t of March, 22d of June, 28d of September, 23d of De- 
cember, wlien the sun enters the signs Aries, Cancer, Libra, and Capricorn. 

Inverted year : The year going backwards, so far as production, growth, 
or beauty is concerned. Dryden had employed the same expression — 

" And winter storms invert tJie year.'''' 

The retrograding process of nature is- atained, rendered unseeml};, marred, 
by the falling rains of winter. The dejected day (45) expresses tlie gloomy 
aspect of the winter day, during tlie passage of the sun through Aqua- 
rius — shedding but little light, because, even at his meridian height, liung 
iSer the furtliest verge of heaven ; that is, not far above the horizon. 

50. Long night : In the latitude of Great Britain, between fifteen and 
sixteen hours lonsr. 



272 WI¥TEK. 

And all the vapory turbulence of heaven, 

Involve the face of things. Thus Winter falls 

A heavy gloom, oppressive o'er the world. 

Through Nature shedding influence malign, . 

And rouses up the seeds of dark disease. CO 

The soul of man dies in him, loathing life. 

And black with more than melancholy views. 

The cattle droop ; and o'er the furrow'd land. 

Fresh from the plough, the dun discolor'd flocks, 

Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root. 65 

Along the woods, along the moorish fens. 

Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm : 

And up among the loose disjointed cliff's. 

And fractured mountains wild, the brawling brook 

And cave presageful, send a hollow moan, . 70 1 

Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear. 

CHEERLESS RAIN-STORM. 

Then comes the father of the tempest forth, 
Wrapp'd in black glooms. First, joyless rains obscure 
Drive through the mirigling skies with vapor foul ; 
Dash on the mountain's brow, and shake the woods, 75 
Tliat grumbling wave below. Th' unsightly plain 
Lies a brown deluge ; as the low bent clouds 
Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted, still 
Combine, and deepening into night, shut up 
The day's fair face. The wanderers of heaven, 80 

Each to his home, retire ; save those that love 
To take their pastime in the troubled air. 
Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. 
The cattle from th' untasted fields return. 
And ask, with meaning low, their wonted stalls ; 85 

Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. 
Thither the household, feathery people crowd. 



WIN IKK. 273 

The crested cock, wi;li all liis female irain. 

Pensive, and dripping! wliile the cottage hind 

Hangs o'er th' enlivening blaze, and taleful there • 90 

Recounts his simple frolic. Much he talks. 

And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows 

Without, and rattles on his humble roof. 

Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swell'd. 
And the mix'd ruin of its banks o'erspread, 95 

At last the ix)used-up river pours along. 
Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes, 
From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild. 
Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far ; 
Then o'er the sanded valley floating spreads, 100 

Calm, sluggish, silent ; till again, constrain'd 
Between two meeting hills, it bursts away. 
Where rocks and woods o'erhang the turbid stream ; 
There gathering triple force, rapid, and deep, 
It boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders through. 105 

WINTER TEMPESTS. 

Nature ! great parent ! whose unceasing hand 
Rolls round the Seasons of the changeful year, 
How mighty, how majestic are thy works ! 
With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul ! 
That sees astonish'd ! and astonish'd sings ! 1 10 

Ye too, ye winds ! that now begin to blow 
With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you. 
Where are your stores, ye powerful beings ! say. 
Where your aerial magazines reserved. 
To swell the brooding terrors of the storm? 115 

In what far distant region of the sky, 
Hush'd in deep silence, sleep ye when 'tis calm ? 

When from the pallid sky the sun descends, 
With many a spot that o'er his glaring orb 
\2* 



274 WINTER. 

Unceiiain wanders, stain'd ; red, fiery streaks 120 

Begin to flush around. The reeUng clouds 

Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet 

Which master to obey ; while rising slow. 

Blank, in the leaden-color'd east, the moon 

Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. 125 

Seen through the turbid, fluctuating air, 

The stars obtuse emit a shiver'd ray ; 

Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom. 

And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. 

Snatch'd in short eddies, plays the wither'd leaf; 130 

And on the flood the dancing feather floats. 

With broaden'd nostrils to the sky upturn'd. 

The conscious heifer snuffs the stormy gale. 

E'en as the matron, at her nightly task,- 

With pensive labor draws the flaxen thread, 135 

The wasted taper and the crackling flame 

Foretell the blast. But chief the plumy race, 

The tenants of the sky, its changes speak. 

Retiring from the downs, where all day long 

They pick'd their scanty fare, a blackening train 140 

Of clamorous rooks' thick urge their weary flight. 

And seek the closing shelter of the grove. 

Assiduous, in his bower, the wailing owl 

Plies his sad song. The cormorant on high 

139. Dovms : It is rather uncertain whether t,he poet by this terra de- 
notes the banks of sand washed up on the sea-coast, or the barren and 
naked, hilly tracts of England devoted to pasturage. As the rook is said 
to live on insects and grubs, the latter is more probably the signification. 
The rooks (a species of the crow genus) are gregarious birds, building 
their nests on the same tree, and on contiguous ones ; and after the young 
birds are fledged they forsake these trees, but return to them in October 
to roost •. in winter they seek shelter in a compact grove, to which the 
entire flock repairs every night. 

144. The cormorant, is a voracious sea-raven, frequenting cliffs on the 
sea-shore, and feerli ig on fish. The hern, or heron, is another kind of sea- 
bird, of the genus Ardea, having long legs, long neck and wings, aad 



WINTER. ti i 

Wheels from the deep, and screams along the Iniirl. 145 
Loud shrieks the soaring hern ; and with wild wing 
The circling sea -fowl cleave the flaky clouds. 
Ocean, unequal press'd, with broken tide 
And blind commotion heaves ; while from the shore. 
Eat into, caverns by the restless wave, 150 

And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice. 
That solemn sounding bids the world prepare. 
Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst. 
And hurls the whole precipitated air 

Down, in a torrent. On the passive main 155 

Descends the ethereal force, and with stroncr nrust 
Turns from its bottom the discolor'd deep. 
Through the black night that sits immense around, 
Lash'd into foam, the fierce conflicting brine 
Seems o'er a thousand raging waves to burn. ICO 

Meantime the mountain billows, to the clouds 
In dreadful tumult sweli'd, surafe above sursre. 
Burst into chaos v.'ith tremendous roar. 
And anchor'd navies from their stations drive, ^ 
Wild as the winds across the howling waste 165 

' Of mighty waters. Now th' inflated wave 
Straining they scale, and now impetuous shoot 
into the secret chambers of the deep. 
The wintry Baltic thundering o'er their head. 
Emej-ging thence again, before the breath 170 

Of full-exerted heaven, they wing their course. 
And dart on distant coasts ; if some sharp rock 



Bubsistmg on fish. Sea-fowl is a name for all the other varieties of birds 
that derive their support from the salt water. 

159-60. Fierce cnvfiictinrj brine, <fec. : The brilliant appearance of tlie 
ocean at uiglit when agitated and rough, is at certain times a most mag- 
nificent spectacle. The cause is not exactly ascertained. Some suppose 
it is occasioned by an immense number of animalculse ; others attribute 
it to electricity. 



276 WINTEK. 

Or shoal insidious break not their career, 

And in loose fragments fling them floating round. 

Nor less at iand the loosen'd tempest reigns. 1*75 

The mountain thunders ; and its sturdy sons 
Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. 
Lone on the midnight steep, and all aghast, 
The dark wayfaring stranger breathless toils, 
And, often falling, climbs against the blast. 180 

Low waves the rooted forest, vex'd, and sheds 
What of its tarnish'd honors yet remain ; 
Dash'd down, and scatter'd, by the tearing- wind's 
Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. 
_. Thus struggling through the dissipated grove, 185 

The whirling tempest raves along the plain ; 
And on the cottage thatch'd, or lordly roof. 
Keen fastening, shakes them to the solid base. 
Sleep frighted flies ; and round the rocking dome. 
For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. 190 

Then, too, they say, through all the burden'd air. 
Long groans are heard, shrill sounds, and distant sighs, 
That, utter'd by the Demon of the night. 
Warn the devoted wretch of woe and death. 

Huge uproar lords it wide. The clouds commix'd 195 
With stars swift gliding sweep along the sky. 
All Nature reels. Till Nature 's King, who oft 
Amid tempestuous darkness dwells alone. 
And on the wings of the careering wind 
Walks dreadfully serene, commands a calm ; 200 

Then, straight, air, sea, and earth are hush'd at once. 

As yet 'tis midnight deep. The weary clouds. 
Slow meeting, mingle into solid gloom. 
Now, while the drowsy woiid lies lost in sleep, 

193. Demon of the night : A mere creation of fancy or 6uperstitioi>~ 
a being supposed to preside in the storm, and xo warn vnose exposed to 
its fnry. 



WINTER. 277 

Let me associate with the serious Night, 205 

And Contemplation, her sedate compeer ; 
, Let me shake off th' intrusive cares of day. 
And lay the meddling senses all aside. 

Where now, ye lying vanities of life ! 
Ye ever tempting, ever cheating train ! 210 

"Where are you now ? and what is your amount ? 
Vexation, disappointment, and remorse ; 
Sad, sickening thought ! and yet, deluded man, 
A scene of crude disjointed visions past. 
And broken slumbers, rises still resolved, 215 

With new-flush'd hopes, to run the giddy round. 

Father of hght and- life ! thou Good Supreme ! 
0, teach me what-is good ! teach me Thyself! 
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice. 

From every low pursuit ! and feed my soul 220 

With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure ; 
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss ! 

SNOW MANTLES THE EARTH : DISTURBS THE COMFORT OF 
ANIMALS. 

The keener tempests rise ; and fuming dun 
From all the Hvid east, or piercing north, 
Thick clouds ascend ; in whose capacious womb 225 

A vapory deluge lies, to snow congeal'd. 
Heavy they roll their fleecy world along. 
And thb sky saddens .with the gather'd storm. 
Through the hush'd air the whitening shower descends^ 
At first thin wavering; till at last the flakes 230 

Fall broad and wide and last, dimming the day 

217-22. Let every youth commit this admirable prayer to memory, 
and make a frequent use of it ; achuirable as far as it goes, tliougli, of 
course, some supplemeijitaiij^ evangelical petitions must be added, to meet 
fully the act'ial moral necessities and rospondibilities of each one's case. 



278 WINTER. 

With a continual flow. The cherish 'd fields 

Put on their winter robe of purest white. 

*Tis brightness all ; save where the new snow melts 

Along the mazy current. Low the woods 235 

Bow their hoar head ; and ere the languid sun 

Faint from the west emits his evening ray, 

Earth's universal face, deep hid, and chill, 

Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide 

The works of man. Drooping, the^ laborer-ox 240 

Stands cover'd o'er with snow, and then demands 

The fruit of all his toil. The fowls of heaven. 



232-5. Prof. Wilson, in his " "Winter Rhapsody," has some exquisite re- 
marks upon this and contiguous passages relating to snow, and to the ge- 
nius of the author as therein displayed. Of the passage here quoted, he 
Bays — " Nothing can be more vivid. 'Tis of the nature Of an ocular spec- 
irrum." So, on 256-7, he observes: — "Here is a touch like one of Cow 
per s. Note the beauty of the epithet ' brown,' where all that is motion 
less is white. 

' The foodless wilds 
Pour forth their hroicn inhabitants. 

That one word proves the poet." He then adds : — " The entire descrip- 
tion, from which these two passages are selected from memory, is admi- 
rable — except in one or two places where Thomson seems to have striven 
to be strongly pathetic, and where he seems to us to have oversliot hia 
mark, and to have ceased to be perfectly natural. Thus, in 240-2, Droop- 
ing the ox, &,c. : the image of the ox is as good as possible. "VVe see him, 
and could paint him in oils. But, to our mind, the notion of his ' de- 
manding the fruit of all his toils' — to which we freely acknowledge the 
worthy animal was well entitled — sounds, as it is here expressed, rather 
fantastical. Call it doubtful — for Jemmy was never utterly in the wrong 
in any sentiment. Again (261-3), The bleating kind, &c. : the second line 
(262) is perfect ; but the Ettrick Shepherd agreed with us, 'that the third 
was not quite perfect. Sheep, he agreed with us, do not deliver them- 
selves up to despair in any circumstances ; and here Thomson transferred 
what would have been his own feeling in a corresponding condition, to 
animals who dreadlessly follow their instincts. Thomson redeems him- 
self in what immediate y succeeds (263-4) — then, sad dispersed, &c. For, 
as they disperse, they do look very sad — and no doubt are so — but had 
they been in despair, they would not so readily, and constantly, and uni- 
formly, and successfully, have taken to the digging — but whole flocks had 
perislied." 



WINTER. • ^Jii 

Tamed by the cruel season, crowd around 

The winnowing store, and claim the little boon 

Which Providence assigns them. One alone, 24; 

The red-breast, sacred to the housetiold gods. 

Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky. 

In joyless fields and thorny thickets, leaves 

His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man 

His annual visit. Half afraid, he first 25( 

Against the window beats ; then, brisk, alights 

On the warm hearth ; then, hopping o'er the floor. 

Eyes all the smiling family askance, 

And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is ; 

Till, more familiar grown, the table-crumbs 25/ 

Attract his slender feet. The foodless wilds. 

Pour forth their brown inhabitants. The hare, 

Though timorous of heart, and hard beset 

By death in various forms, dark snares, and dogs. 

And m,ore unpitying men, the garden seeks, 26( 

Urged on by fearless w^ant. The bleating kind 

Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glistening earth, 

With looks of dumb despair ; then, sad dispersed. 

Dig for the wither'd herb through -heaps of snow. 

Now, shepherds, to your helpless charge be kind ; 26^ 
Baffle the raging year, and fill their pens 
With food at will ; 'lodge them below the storm, 
And watch them strict : for from the bellowinor east. 



246. Household gods : An allusion to the superstition of the ancient, 
Romans, wlio imagined that there were superior beings, or deities, who 
had charge of their respective households and of household operations. 
These were called Penates, and were worshipped within the dwelling. 
Some of these gods bore the name of Lares, who were probably regarded 
as the souls of the deceased ancestors of the family. TJie phrase Sacred 
to the household gods, when stripped of its Pagan dress, means sacred to 
the family circle — devoted to its gratification, and enjoying its love and 
protection. 

268-275. These lines (says Prof. Wilson) are a glorious example of tho 



280 WINTEK. 

In this dire season, oft the whirlwind's wing 

Sweeps up the burden of whole wintry plains 270 

At one wide waft, and o'er the hapless flocks. 

Hid in tlie hollow of two neighboring hills, 

The billowy tempest whelms ; till, upward urged, 

The valley to a shining mountain swells, 

Tipp'd with a wreath high curling in the sky. 275 



THE COTTAGER PEHISHING IN A SNOW-STORM. 

As thus the snows arise ; 5nd foul, and fierce. 
All Winter drives along the darken'd air ; 
In his own loose revolving fields, the swain 
Disaster'd stands ; aees other hills 'ascend. 
Of unknown joyless brow; and other scenes, *».oti 

sweeping style of description which characterized the genius of tliw sub- 
lime poet. Well might the bard, with such a snow-storm in his im..^'ina- 
tion, when telling the shepherds to be kind to their helpless charg ■, ad- 
dress them in language which, in an ordinary mood, would hav& beea 
bombast. " Shepherds," says he, " baffle the raging year !" How \ why 
merely by filling their pens with foodi. But the whirlwind was up 

" Far off its coining groari'd,^'' 

and the poet was inspired. Had he not been so, he had not cried, ^^ T'affle 
the raging year ;" and if you be not so, you will think it a tnost absurd 
expression. 

276-321. Here is a passage ("says Prof. Wilson) which will live forever; 
in which not one word could be altered for the better — not one omitted 
but for the worse — not one added that would not be superfluous — a pas- 
sage which proves that fiction is not the soul of poetry, but truth — but 
then such truth as was never spoken before on the same subject — such 
truth as shows that while Thomson was a person of the strictest veracity, 
yet was he very far indeed from being a matter-of-fact man. 

2*78-9. The swain, &c. : The pastoral solitudes in which Thomson was 
reared, if not born, told him that, in the season of snoAv; the fowls of the 
air were not the sole sufferers, for that man, in the care of his flocks, was 
often smothered in the drift, or chilled to death on the barren hills. This 
was evidently in his mind whe« he wrote of the peasant perishing in the 
snow. It has all tlie marks of reality, and forms one of the most moving 
pictures of the season. — C. 



WINTER. ^ 281 

Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain : 

Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 

Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on 

From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; 

Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps. 285 

Stung with the thoughts of home, the thoughts of Kome 

Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth 

In many a vain attempt. How sinks his soul ! 

What black despair, what horror fills his heart ; 

When for the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd 290 

His tufted cottage rising through the snow. 

He meets the roughness of the middle waste. 

Far from the track and bless'd abode of man ! 

While round him night resistless closes- fast. 

And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 295 

Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 

Then throng the busy shapes into his mind 

Of cover'd pits, unfathoraably deep, 

A dire descent ! beyond the power of frost ! 

Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, 300 

Smoothed up with snow ; and, what is land, unknown. 

What vv^ater, of the still unfrozen spring. 

In the loose marsh or solitary lake. 

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 

These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks . 305 

Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift. 

Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, 

Mix'd with the tender anguish Nature shoots 

Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, 

His wife; his children, and his friends unseen. » 310 

In vain for him th' officious wife prepares 

The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ; 

In vain his little children, peeping out 

Into the mingling storm, demand their sire, 

With tears of artless innocence. Alas I 316 



282 » ^ " wintp:k. 

l^or wife, nor children, more shall he behold, 

Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve 

The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 

And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold. 

Lays him along the snows, a stiffen'd corse, 320 

Slretch'd out, and bleaching in the northern blast. 

heflections on human poverty and wretchedness. 

Ah ! little think the gay, licentious proud) 
Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround ; 
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 
And wanton, often cruel, riot waste ; 325 

Ah! httle think they, while they dance along, 
How many feel, this very moment, death, 
And all the sad variety of pain : 
How many sink in the devouring flood. 
Or more devouring flame ; how many bleed, 330 

By shameful variance betwixt man and man : 
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms ; 
Shut from the common air, and common use 
Of their own limbs : how many drink the cup 
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 335 

Of misery : sore pierced by wintr}^ winds, 
-How many shrink into the sordid hut 
Of cheerless poverty : how many shake 
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind. 
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ; 340 

Whence tumbled headlong from the height of hfe, 
They furnish matter for the tragic Muse : 

322-375. Here the poet, who never omits an opportunity of reading a 
high moral lesson to mankind, reminds the proud and the affluent how 
many of their fellow-men at that moment are suffering all varieties of 
woe — want, cold, and hunger — how many in the city prison or in the hum- 
ble hut, who have claims on their compassion or on their justice. — C. 



WINTER. 283 

E'en in the vale, where Wisdom loves to dwell, 
"With Friendship, Peace, and Contemplation join'd, 
How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop 345 

In deep retired distress : how many stand 
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, 
And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man 
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, 
That one incessant struggle render life, 350 

One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate ; 
Vice in his high career would stand appall'd. 
And heedless, rambling Impulse learn to think ; 
* The conscious heart of Charity would warai. 
And her wide wish. Benevolence dilate ; 355 

The social tear would rise, the social sigh ; 
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss. 
Refining still, the social passions work. 

CRUELTIES OF A BRITISH PRISON IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 

And here can I forget the generous band, 
Who, touch'd with human woe, redressive search'd 360 
Into the horrors of the gloomy jail ; 
Unpitied, and unhfeard, where Misery moans ; 

342. Tragic Muse : the Muse presiding over tragedy, or, without a fig- 
ure, the writer of tragedy — the province of which is to depict important 
actions, scenes of strong passion, and of melancholy inte'rest and issues. 

359. Generous band: the Jail Committee in the year 1729. In 1773 
the celebrated John Howard, of England, commenced his philanthropic 
and extensive explorations of European prisons — made known their de- 
plorable cruelties and wrongs— awakened public sympathy and exertions 
in behalf of iheir wretched inmates — and secured most valuable changes 
in the entu-s Bystem of prison discipline and accommodations. In the 
prosecution of this benevolent and arduous undertaking he expended 
thirty thousand pounds of his own income, travelled about sixty thousand 
miles, and endured an amount of fatigue, labor, e*xposure of health, and 
sacrifice of the comforts of home and of native country, which is almost 
incredible, and finally he lost his hfe by a fever which he conti*acted in 
visiting a llussian prison in the year 1790. 



284 WINTER. 

Where Sickness pines ; where Thirst and Hunger burn, 

And poor Misfortune feels the lash of Vice ? 

While "in the land of Liberty, the land 365 

Whose every street and public meeting glow 

With open freedom, little tyrants raged ; 

Snatch'd the lean morsel from the starving mouth ; 

Tore from cold wintry limbs the tatter'd weed ; 

E'en robb'd them of the last of comforts, sleep ; 3Y0 

The freeborn Briton to the dungeon chain'd, 

Or, as the lust of cruelty prevail'd, 

At pleasure mark'd him with inglorious stripes ; 

And crush'd out lives, by secret, barbarous ways, 

That for their country would have toil'd or bled. 375 

O great design ! if executed well, 

With patient care, and wisdom-temper'd zeal. 

Ye sons of Mercy ! yet resume the search ; 

Drag forth the regal monsters into light. 

Wrench from their hands Oppression's iron rod, S80 

And bid the cruel feel the pains tliey give. 

Much still untouch'd remains ; in this rank age. 

Much is the patriot's weeding hand required. 

The toils of law, (what dark insidious men 

Have cumbrous added to perplex tlie truth, 385 

And lengthen simple justice into trade,) 

How glorious were the day that saw these broke. 

And every man within the reach of right ! 

WOLVES DESCE:NDING from the alps and APENNINES. 

By wintry famine roused, from all the tract 
Of horrid mountains, which the shining Alps, 390 

And wavy Apennine, and Pyrenees, 

389-413. To tliis passage, or rather, to a portion of it, Prof. Wilson haa 
applied"6ome severity of criticism. According to him, the iirst fifteen hnea 
are equal to any thing in the whole range Df English descriptive poetry , 



WINTER. 285 

Branch out stupendous into distant lands ; 
Cruel as death, and hungry as the grave ! 
Burning for blood ! bom^ and gaunt, and grim ! 
A8S(^mbhng .wolves in i-aging troops descend ; 305 

And, pouring o'er the country, bear along , 

Keen as the north-wind sweeps the glossy snow. 
All is their prize. They fasten on the steed, 
Press him to earth, and pierce his mighty heart. 

but the last ten (404-13) are positively bad ; and for these leasons — 
Wila beasts do not like the look of the human eye ; they think us ugly 
customers ; and sometimes stand shilly-shallying in our presence, in an 
awkward but alarming attitude, of hunger mixed with fear. A single 
wolf seldom or never attacks a man. He cannot stand the face. Eut a 
person would need to have a godlike face iudeod to terrify therewith aa 
army of wolves some thousands strong. It Wv^ild be the height of pre- 
sumption in any man, though beautiful as Moort thought Byron, to at- 
tempt it. If so, then 

• " Tlie godlike face of man avails him not," 

is, under these circumstances, ludicrous. Still more so is the trash about 
•beauty, force divine ! It is too much to expect of an army of wolves ten 
thousand strong, and "hungry as the grave," that they should all fall 
down on their knees before a sweet morsel of flesh and blood, merely be- 
cause the young lady was so beautiful that she might have sat to Sir 
Thomas Lawrence for a frontispiece to Mr. "Watts' Souvenir. 'Tis all stuff, 
too, about the generous lion standing in softened gaze at beauty's bright 
glance. True, he has been known to look with a certain sort of soft sur- 
liness upon a pretty Caffre girl, and to walk past without eating her^but 
simply because, an hour or two before, he had dined on a Hottentot Ve- 
nus. The secret lay not in his heart, but in his stomach. Still the notion 
is a popular one. 

Famished wolves howlcing up the dead is a dreadful image — but "in- 
human to relate^^ is not an expression heavily laden with meaning; and 
the sudden, abrupt, violent, and, as we feel, unnatural introduction of 
ideas, purely superstitious, at the close, is most revolting, and miserably 
mars the terrible truth. 

" Mix'd with foul shades and frighted ghosts, they howL" 

Why, pray, are the shades foAl, and the ghosts only frightened ? And 
wherein lies the specific difference between a shade and a ghost ? Be- 
sides, if the ghosts were frightened, which they had good reason to be, 
why were not they off? We have frequently read of their wandering 
far from home, on occasions when tliey had no such excuse to offer. 



286 WINTER. 

Nor can the bull his awful front defend, 400 

Or shake the murdering savages away. 

Rapacious, at the mother's throat they fly. 

And tear the screaming infant from her breast. 

The godlike face of man avails him naught. 

E'en beauty, force divine ! at whose bright glance 405 

The generous lion stands in soften'd gaze. 

Here bleeds, a hapless, undistinguish'd prey. 

But if, apprised of the severe attack. 

The country be shut up, lured by the sceut. 

On churchyards drear (inhuman to relate !) 410 

The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig 

The shrouded body from the grave ; o'er which 

Mix'd with foul shades and frighted ghosts, they howl. 

Among those hilly regions, Avhere embraced 
In peaceful vales the happy Grisons dwell; 415 

Oft, rushing sudden from the loaded cliffs. 
Mountains of snow their gathering terrors roll ; 
From steep to steep, loud thundering down they come, 
A wintry waste, in dire commotion all ; 
And herds, and flocks, and travellers, and swains, 420 

415, Grisons:. one of the Swiss cantons. The rivers Rhino and Inn 
have their source in this part of the Alps. One distinguishing character- 
istic of the Swiss mountains, says Goodrich, is the Glaciers, which resemble 
a stormy sea, suddenly congealed and bristling all over with sharp ridgos. 
The Avalanches, or slips of snow, form another peculiar feature in the 
scenery of this country. There are innumerable valleys entirely deso- 
lated, and almost inaccessible to any thing having life, in consequence of 
these tremendous visitations from the surrounding cliffs. Not only the 
' snow-fields but even mountains themselves occasionally slide down upoa 
the country below. la 1806 a piece of the Rossberg, twice as large as 
the city of Paris, slipped down at once into the lake of Lowertz and oc- 
casioned the most dreadful devastation. Another accident of the same 
kind occurred in the Lake of Lucerne, in 1801, when eleven persons were 
drowned at a village on the opposite side of the lake, by the wave raised 
by the plunge of the falling mass. Switzerland abounds in deep and ro- 
mantic valleys, many of which are fertile and well-cultivated, and full ol 
wild and picturesque scenery,^ 



WINTKK. 287 

And somt times whole brigades of marching troops, 

Or hamlets sleeping in the dead of night, 

Are deep beneath the smothering ruin whelm'd. 

THE MIGHTY DEAD OF GREECE. 

Now, all amid the rigors of the year. 
In the wild depth of Winter, while without 425 

The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat 
Between the groaning forest and the shore, 
Beat by the boundless multitude of waves, 
A rural, shelter'd, sohtary scene ; 

Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join 430 

To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit. 
And hold high converse with the mighty Dead ; 
Sages of ancient time, as gods revered. 
As gods beneficent, who bless'd mankind 
With arts, with arms, and humanized a world. 435 

Roused at the inspiring thought, I throw aside 
The long-lived volume ; and, deep musing, hail 
The sacred shades, that slowly rising pass 
Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates, 

439. Socrates: one of the most distinguished of the philosophers of 
Athens. He was born 469 b. c. He often served his country with groat 
valor in military expeditions : at sixty years of age, he was a prominent 
and influential member of the Senate of Five Hundred : he firmly opposed 
the oppressive measures of the Thirty Tyrants at the hazard of his life : 
grieved at the kind of philosophical teaching in vogue at Athens, consist- 
ing chiefly of refined speculations upon nature and the origin of things, 
and offended at the sophists for teaching the arts of false eloquence and 
false reasoning, Socrates originated a new and more practical and iisefid 
method of instruction. After this period he spent most of his time in 
public places, that he might come in contact with large numbers, and 
benefit them by liis lectures and conversation. He was a popular and 
successful teacher of moral wisdom, and a disinterested and zealous pat 
riot : yet his enemies succeeded in procuring his unjust condemnation to 
death by poison, when, he was in his seventieth year. The last scones oJ 



288 WINTl-Ft. 

Who, firmly good in a corrupted state, 440 

Against the rage of tyrants single stood, 

Invincible ! calm reason's holy law, 

That Voice of God within th' attentive mind. 

Obeying, fearless, or in life or death : 

Great moral teacher ! wises't of mankind ! 445 

Solon the next, who built his commonweal 

On equity's wide base ; by tender laws 

A lively people curbing, yet nndamp'd. 

Preserving still that quick peculiar fire, 

his life in prison are described with great beauty and pathos by the elo- 
quent Xenophon, his friend and pupil. 

446. Solon : one of the "seven wise men of Greece," and a distinguislied 
Athenian lawgiver, but a native of Salamis. After a long course of travel 
for the sake of obtaining information, he found his country on his return in 
a deplorable state, divided by contending factions and unable to resist any 
attacks from abroad. By his poetic talent, and eloquence, and nianagenieist, 
he persuaded the Athenians to recover, by force of arms, his native island 
from the unjust grasp of the state of Megara. He personally aided in the 
battles which secured its recovery. He set himself most wisely and 
vigorously to suppress the angry feuds of his fellow-citizens, and to gain 
their consent to a new organization of the state, which had become ne- 
cessary, as the government was now wielded by men who made it an in- 
Btrument of self-aggrandizement and wealth, and of oppressing the great 
body of the people. He was chosen, by consent of all parties, to mediate 
between the contending classes, and, with the title of Archon, was ap- 
pointed to the task of framing a new constitution and a new code of laws, 
594 B. c. He secured to every Athenian citizen the right of being judged 
by his peers and tried by laws to which his own consent had been given. 
The legislative and judicial powers were intrusted to the people : but the 
administration of government was placed in the hands of men of property 
and ability, and this peculiarity furnished a powerful incentive to the'ln- 
dustry of the people and to the acquisition of property for the purpose of 
thereby securing a larger share of political influence. Solon's laws em- 
braced a wide range of subjects— rules of right, maxims of morality, 
regulations of commerce, and precepts of agriculture. They were con- 
veyed into the Roman jurisprudence about the middle of the fifth century 
before Christ, and, after an interval of sixteen hundred years, served to 
abolish the barbarous practices of the Gothic nations, and to introduce 
justice, security, and refinement, among the modern inhabitants of Europe. 
Consult GilUes' Greece, 162-165. 



WINTEK. 289 

Whence in the laurel'd field of finer arts, 450 

And of bold freedom, they unequall'd shone ; 

The pride of smiling Greece and humankind. 

Lyciirgus then, who bow'd beneath the force 

Of strictest discipline, severely wise. 

All human passions. Following him, I see, 455 

As at Thermopylae he glorious fell. 

The firm devoted Chief, who proved by deeds 

The hardest lesson which the other taught. 

Then Aristides lifts his honest front ; 



453. Lycurgus : a Spartan lawgiver, for which station he sought to 
quahfj himself by a journey to Crete and to Egypt, to examine the lawa 
and institutions for which, in tliat age, those countries were distinguished. 
He also visited the oriental countries, and in passing through Asia Minor 
on his return, he found among the lonians and Cohans the poems of Ho- 
mer. These he brought home with liim, and made them the basis of his 
legislation, as they contain a large amount of pohtical and moral infor- 
mation, useful for such a purpose. He made some important changes in 
the constitution of Sparta : he banished wealth and luxury, and, as a 
means to this, prohibited the use of gold and silver coin and substituted 
iron in their place. He established public tables at which the people 
took their frugal meals. From the age of seven years, the Spartan chil- 
dren were educated by the state, and subjected to rigorous discipline, 
and manly exercises, and self-denials, adapted to make them serviceable 
warriors in adult years. To give them leisure for martial pursuits, they 
were not allowed to practise mechanical trades or to follow agricultural 
pursuits, but these were assigned to the Helots, or slaves. Female chil- 
dren received a careful physical education adapted to secure to their off- 
spring a vigorous constitution. The laws of Sparta were few, and unwrit- 
ten, and thoroughly committed to memory by the Spartan children. 

467. Chief : Leonidas, a Spartan king and general, who manfully, with 
a small yet devoted band, ventured to obstruct the march of a vast 
Persian army into Greece, at the passage of ThertQopylse, leading from 
Thessaly into Southern Greece. The Spartans were overpowered and, 
excepting two or three, died on the narrow field of tliis unequal battle, 
which took place 480 b. c. 

469. Arhtidefi and Themistocles were rival (464) statesmen. The former 
(says Keightley) of noble birth, moderate and disinterested in his char- 
acter, leaned to the aristocratic principle ; his rival, of inferior birth (his 
mother being a foreigner), courted more the people. In integrity and 
fnoral dignity of character, he whs as inferior to his rival as in birth ; but 

13 



200 * WINTER. 

Spotless of heart,, to whom th' unflattering voice 460 

Of freedom gave the noblest name of Just ; 

In pure majestic poverty revered ; 

Who, e'en his glory to his country's weal 

Submitting, swell'd a haughty Rival's fame. 

Rear'd by his care, of softer ray appears 465 

Cimon sweet-soul'd ; whose genius, rising strong, 

Shook ofif the load of young debauch ; abroad, 

The scourge of Persian pride ; at home, the friend 

Of every worth and every splendid art ; 

Modest and simple in the pomp of wealth. 410 

Then the last worthies of declining Greece, 

Late call'd to glory, in unequal times, 

Pensive appear. The fair Corinthian boast, 

Timoleon, happy temper ! mild and firm, 

his brilliant qualities gained the people, and his influence soon became 
considerable in the state. 

Aristides, who was styled the Just, directed his attention chiefly to the 
management of the finances, and was more than once chosen Archon. 
Themistocles sought the more showy station of military command, and 
turned the attention and efforts of the people to the augmentation of the 
navy. His influence ere long became so great, that he was able to turn 
the weapon of ostracism against his rival, and Aristides was obliged to 
go into honorable banishment. With like ingratitude for great services 
rendered, Themistocles himself, some time afterwards, was treated in a 
similar manner. 

466. Cimon distinguished himself by his victorious naval conflicts with 
the Persian invaders of his country, and with other enemies. His achieve- 
ments were brilhant, and useful to Athens. In private life he exhibited 
many virtues. As Gillies remarks, he not only reflected the most distin- 
guished excellencies of his predecessors, but improved and adorned them 
by an elegant liberality of manners, an indulgent humanity, and can- 
did condescension — virtues which long secured him the afi^ections of his 
fellow-citizens, while his military talents and authority, always directed 
by moderation and justice, maintained an absolute ascendant over the 
allies of the republic. 

By his munificence and taste he greatly improved Athens and ita 
environs. 

474. Timoleon : an eminent Corinthian warrior and statesman. His 
brother Timophanes, having been raised to the chief command of the 



WINTER. 



291 



Who wept thfc brother while the iyjdUL bh d. 475 

And, equal to the best, the Theban Pair, 

Whose virtues, in heroic concord join'd, 

Their country raised to freedom, empire, fame. 

He too, with whom Athenian honor sunk, 

And left a mass of sordid lees behind, 480 

Phocion the Good ; in public life severe, 

forces of Corinth for its defence, subjected, with an utter disregard of 
honor and of justice, the city to his own despotic sway, having put to 
death many of the principal inhabitants witliout form of trial. Timoleoa 
was grieved at this treacherous and tyrannical proceeding and expostu- 
lated with his brother and urged him to retrace his steps and endeavor 
to make reparation to the city. The expostulation was treated with dis- 
dain. After a few days he brought two other individuals of some note, 
who then united their earnest entreaties to persuade- him to renounce his 
tyranny, but Timophanes at first sneered at them, and then broke out into 
a violent passion. At this juncture, Tiraoleon stepped aside, and stood 
weeping, with his face covered, while the other two drew their swords 
and dispatched Timophanes. To this incident Thomson refers. 

476. The Theban pair : Pelopidas and Epaminondas. The former was 
brought up in affluence, but with a noble contempt of riches, expended 
them freely in the relief of the necessitous. Epaminondas was poor, and 
yet he alone of the Thebans, refused to share in the liberality of his friend. 
Both were marked by the plainest dress and habits of living : they both 
devoted themselves to the cultivation of every moral virtue. Pelopidas 
•was peculiarly pleased with corporal exercises and sports : Epaminondas 
with philosophical studies. Both were admired greatly for that strict 
and inviolable friendship which was maintained between them from their 
earliest acquaintance to the end of life, in all the high stations, both mili- 
tary and civil, to which they were exalted. This arose from the fact that, 
in attending to public duties, they were actuated not by a regard to 
their own honor and wealtli, but by an equal and all-absorbing love of 
country, which impelled them to avail themselves of the achievements of 
each other as if they had been their own. ISee Plutarch's Life of Pelop- 
idas. 

481. Phocion: an Athenian general, orator, and statesman, born about 
400 B. 0. He was remarkable (says Anthoii), in a corrupt age, for pu- 
rity and simplicity of character, and, thoug^i he erred in his political 
views, yet in his private relations he certainly deserved the praise of a 
virtuous and excellent man. In his military capacity he signalized him- 
nelf on sevei-al occasions. As a statesman, however, Phocion seems less 
deserving of praise. His great error was too strong an attachment to 



292 WINTER. 

To virtue still inexorably firm. 

But when, beneath his low illustrious roof, 

Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his brow, 

Not Friendship softer was, nor Love more kind. 485 

And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons, 

The generous victim to that vaiti attempt. 

To save a rotten state, Agis, who saw 

E'en Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk. 

The two Achaian heroes close the train : 490 

Aratus, who awhile relumed the soul 



pacific relations with Macerlon, a h'ne of policy which brought him into di- 
rect colHsion with Demosthenes, though it subsequently secured for him 
the favor of Alexander. In this, however, there was notliing corrupt ; the 
principles of Phocion were pure, and his desire for peace was a sincere 
one ; but his great fault was in despairing too readily of his country. 
Alexander, to testify his regard for Phocion, sent him a present of a hun- 
dred talents, which the latter unhesitatingly refused. 

As to Phocion, Plutarch says that, when the money was brought to 
Athens, he asked the bearers of it, why among all the citizens of Athena 
he had been selected as the recipient of such bounty; "Because," said 
they, " Alexander looks upon you as the only honest and good man." 
" Then," said Phocion, " let him permit me always to retain that charac 
ter, as well as really to be that man." 

Plutarch also informs us that Phocion never exerted himself against 
any man in his private capacity, or considered him as an enemy ; but he 
was inflexibly severe against every man who opposed his motions and de> 
signs for the public good. His behavior, in other respects, was liberal, 
benevolent, and humane ; the unfortunate he was always ready to assist, 
and he pleaded even for liis enemy, if he happened to be in danger. 

These particulars illustrate the text : we have not space for more, 
though highly interesting ones might easily be furnished from the pages 
of Plutarch. 

488. Agis became king of Sparta, 243 b. c, at a time when the peo- 
ple, through the influence of wealth and luxury, had greatly degenerated 
from the simplicity, and frugality, and severity of their ancient manners 
A.gis, a lover and example of the ancient discipline, endeavored to reform 
existing abuses, and restore the obsolete institutions of Lycurgus. His 
endeavors were applauded by the people, but opposed by men of prop- 
erty ; also by Leonidas, the otlier king of Sparta, through whose agency 
ne was condemned to death, without a legal trial, and promptly executed. 

491. Aratus was born at Sicyon, 273 b. c. At tbe age of twenty he 



WINTER. 293 

Of fondly lingering' liberty in Gi'eece ; 

And he, her darling as her latest hope, 

Thcgallant Philopoemen ; who to arms 

Turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure ; 495 

Or toiling on his farm, a simple swain ; 

Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field. 

/- 

THE GREAT MEN OF ANCIENT ROME. 

Of rougher front, a mighty people come 1 
A race of heroes ! in those virtuous times 
Which knew no stain, save that with partial flame 500 

Their dearest country they too fondly loved : 
Her better Founder first, the light of Rome, 
Numa, who soften'd her rapacious sons : 
Servius the kino- who laid the solid base 



liberated his country from the tyranny of Nicocles, and persuaded his fel 
low-citizens to form with others what was called tlie Achaean league. He 
prevailed upon many of the most important states in Southern Greece 
to become members of the league fur their common safety and advan- 
tage. He w^as an anient patriot and statesman, but of only moderate 
abilities as a militajy man. 

494. Pli'dopocmcn was a brave general of the same league. He in- 
duced the Spartans to join the league ; afterwards nobly declined to re- 
ceive a present of one hundred and twenty talents which they offered 
him ; and, when tlie Spartans violated the terms of the compact, he, as 
general of the league, demolished the walls of Sparta, abolished the in- 
stitutions of Lycurgus, and established in place of these the laws of the 
Achasans. Tlie league spoken of was destroyed by the Romans, and the 
territory over which it was spread became, under Muramius, a Roman 
province. 

503. Numa Pompilius, called here the better Founder of Rome because 
he gave to it those laws and religious institutions which exerted a happy 
influence upon the manners and habits of the nation in its infancy. He 
was the second king of Rome, the first being Romulus. 

504. Servius Tullius, the sixth king of Rome. He sprung from an ob- 
scure origin, greatly modified the character of the Roman government by 
enlarging the privileges of the plebeians, and diminishing the relative 
powci of the patricians The new constitution established by his wisdom 



2yl WINTER. 

On Avliich o'er earth the vast Republic spread. 505 

Then the great consuls venerable rise : 

The public Father who the private quell'd, 

As on the dread tribunal sternly sad : 

He, whom his thankless country could not lose, 

Camillus, only vengeful to her foes : 510 

Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold ; 

And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough : 

Thy willing victim, Carthage, bursting loose 

and energy, though not democratic, seems to have prepared the way for 
the form of a republic which the g()vernm3nt of Rome, not long after 
assumed. 

50*7. Public Father : Lucius Junius Brutus, at whose instigation thi 
royal family of the Tarquins was exiled from Rome, the monarchical 
form of government abolished, and the consular adopted in its stead. As 
one of the first two consuls, he was obliged to try his own sons for en- 
gaging with others in a daring conspiracy to overthrow the consular gov- 
ernment, and restore the exiled Tarquins to the throne. They were con- 
demned and executed by the order of their father, who, as one of the 
fathers of the republic, for its sake quelled, suppressed, and overcame the 
feelings of a, private father. — After qu'lld supply rises. 

510. (7am?7/M.'?, after performing many important achievements for the 
benefit of his country, was unjustly accused of embezzling some of the 
plunder of the city of Veii, which he had conquered. For this, however, 
he went into voluntary exile. Upon the invasion of Rome by Brennus, 
the Gaul, when the capital was in great danger, Camillus was recalled 
from banishment, and elected Dictator. He forgave the past ingratitude 
of the people, put himself at the head of the Roman forces, overthrew 
the Gauls, and made a triumphal entry into^the capital amidst the accla- 
mations of a happy people, who honored him with the name of Romu- 
lus, and saluted him as the father of his country — a second Founder of 
the city. 

511. Gains Fahriciua, a Roman consul, was sent by the Senate to Pyr- 
rhus to make terms of peace. On that occasion, learning the poverty of 
Fabricius, the king urged him to accept a present of gold, as a bribe ; but 
he rejected it with scorn, and thus gained the admiration of the king. 
On a second embassy to Pyrrhus, the physician of the latter offered to 
Fabricius, for a bribe, to poison the king, but Fabricius put him in fet- 
ters, and sent him back to Pyrrhus, upon whom this nt^ble act produced a 
deep impression. 

612, Cincinnatus: See " Spring," note 59. 

513. Victim: Regulus, a Romai consul and general during the first 



WI.NTKR. 295 

From all that pleading Nature could oppose, 

From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith 515 

Imperious call'd, and honor's dire command : 

Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave, 

Who soon the race of spotless glory ran, 

And, warm in youth, to the poetic shade. 



war with the Carthaginians. He, with five hundred of his countrymen, 
was taken prisoner. Having renfciined for several years in prison, he was 
sent to Rome to ask for an exchange of prisoners, not, however, until he 
bad taken a solemn oath that he would return again if his mission should 
prove unsuccessful When he came to Rome (says Anthon) he strongly 
dissuaded bis countrymen against an exchange of prisoners, arguing that 
such an example would be of fatal consequence to the republic ; that cit- 
izens who bad so basely surrendered their arms to the enemy were un- 
worthy of the least compassion, and incapable of serving their country ; 
that, with regard to himself, he was so far advanced in years, that his 
death ought to be considered as a matter of no importance ; whereas 
they had in their bands several Carthaginian generals, in the flower of 
their age, and capable of doing their country great sei vice;* for many 
years. It was with difficulty the senate complied with so generous and 
unexampled a counsel. The illustrious exile therefiire left Rome, in order 
to return to Carthage, unmoved by tlie sorrow of liis friends, or the tears 
of his wife and children ; and was treated, on his return, according to the 
ordinary account, with the utmost degree of cruelty, the Carthaginians 
having heard that their offer had been rejected entirely through the op 
position of Regulus. 

517. Scipio : The family of the Scipios is one of the most distinguished 
in the annals of Roman bravery and conquests. The one here alluded' to 
seems to have been Paulus ^milianus Scipio, who, for his military suc- 
cesses in Africa, was surnaraed Africanus the Younger. He was also the 
conqueror of Numantia in Spain ; but his great popularity was soon ter- 
minated by his opposition to Gracchus, a favorite of the people. Being 
disgusted with the altered state of public feeling towards him, be retired 
to Cajeta, with his friend Laelius, and devoted himself to literary pursuits 
and innocent amusements. Lailius was not only the ardent friend of 
Scipio, but he bad studied philosophy with Diogenes the Stoic and Panae- 
tius, and delighted in the pursuit of wisdom and virtue. He was also an 
eminent orator. The friendship of Scipio and Laelius was much admired 
at Rome, which probably led Cicero, in his dialogue " De Amicitia," to 
give the name of Laelius to one of the interlocutors. Thus, as Thomson 
beautifully expresses the fact, did Scipio tvith Friends/up and PhUosophtf 
retire. 



296 WINTER. 

With fiiendsbip and philosophy, retired: 620 

Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while 

Restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome : 

Unconquei''d Cato, virtuous in extreme : 

And, thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart, 

Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urged, 625 

Lifted the Roman steel against thy friend. 

Thousands besides the tribute of a verse ' 

Demand ; but who can count *he stars of heaven ? 

Who sing their influence on this lower world ? 

Behold, who yonder comes ! in sober state, 630 

Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun : 
*Tis Phoebus' self, or else the Mantuan Swain ! 

621. Tully: Marcus Tullius Cicero, one of the greatest orators the 
world has produced. His matchless eloquence "was often employed in 
the endeavor to prolong the existence and promote the prosperity of the 
republic. He used it most effectually in crushing the formidable conspi- 
racy of Catiline, for which he was designated the Father and Deliverer 
of his country. He delivered several orations against Antony the Tri- 
umvir. The latter part of his life was devoted to philosophical study 
and writings. He has been pronounced the greatest master of composi- 
tion the world has ever seen. He was murdered in his sixty-fourth year 
at the command of Antony, 43 b. c. 

623. Cato, usually called Cato the Cen&or, from the remarkable fidelity 
which he displayed in that office. He often took up arms in defence of 
his country, and ably served it as consul. He was a great warrior — a 
man of great sternness, and severity of manners, and of incorruptible in 
tegrity and patriotism — the author of that cruel sentiment, resulting, how- 
ever, from his exclusive patriotism, that Carthage must be destroyed — 
PrcBterea censeo Cafthaginem esse delendam. He had none of the gentle- 
Dqgs and suavity of Scipio. He was born at Tusculum, 232 b. c. 

524. Brutus : Marcus Junius Brutus chiefly distinguished himself by 
the prominent part which he took in the assassination of Julius Caesar, on 
the ground that he was aiming at the possession of kingly power. His 
agency in this matter was the more remarkable, on the score of patriot- 
ism, from the fact that Cajsar had manifested special friendship for him, 
and had elevated him to several posts of honor. Upon the defeat of 
Brutus on the plains of Philippi, by the forces of Antony and Octavius, 
he committed suicide — thus copying the memorable but criminal example 
of his uncle Marcus Cato. 

63-2. Fhcebus : Apollo — a favorite object of Grecian worship : he was 



WINTER. 



297 



Great Homer too appears, of daring wing, 

Parent of song ! and equal, by bis side. 

The British Muse : join'd hand in hand they w.ilk, 535 

Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame. 

Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch 

Pathetic drew th' impassion'd heart, and charm'd 

Transported Athens with the moral scene ; 

Nor those who, tunefal, waked th' enchanting lyre. 540 

First of your kind ! society divine ! 
Still visit thus my nights, for you reserved, 
And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like yours. 
Silence, thou lonely power ! the door be thine ; 
See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude, 645 

Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign 
To bless my humble roof, with sense refined, 
Learnino; disrested well, exalted faith. 
Unstudied wit, and humor ever gay. 
Or from the Muses' hill with Pope descend, 550 

rc-,jrcsented, in statuary, in the perfection of manly grace and strength : 
hio brows encifcled with a laurel crown, and a bow or lyre in his hands. 
H J was regarded as a patron of poets, and associated with the Muses on 
Parnassus. The 3Iantua7i'Simin was the sweet poet of the Augustan 
age of Rome, author of the Bucolics, Georgics, and ^neid, obtaining the 
title here given him from liis agricultural pursuits, at or near Mantua, in 
early life. The history o^ Homer is involved in great obscurity ; but he 
is generally regarded as the author of the Iliad and Odyssey that bear 
his name — the most remarkable productions of any age. Equal to him, 
however, in the judgment of 'IMiomson and of others, was Milton, the Brit- 
ish Muse, the author of Paradise Lost and Regained — a most stupendous 
monument of human genius, learning, and poetic inspiration. 

Nor absent from the poet's view (537-40) are those shades (departed 
men) of Greece, who excelled in tragedy and in the ode. 

550. Pope: Alexander Pope was born in London in 1688, and began 
very early to write verses, so early that he used to say that he could not 
remember the time when he began to make verses. He adopted the 
Tersification of Dryden as his model. From the age of ten he was a dil- 
igent and successful student from love of knowledge and of mental exer- 
tion. At fourteen he was quite a proficient in the Latin tongue, and had 
acquired great smoothness in versification. The next year he rendered 

13* 



298 WINTER. 

To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile, 
And with the social spirit warm the heart ? 
For though not sweeter his own Homer sings. 
Yet is his life the more endearinjr sono;. 



the French and Italian languages quite familiar to his mind. He was a 
great reader also of the English poets and prose writers, as even his juve- 
nile poems evince. At the age of twenty -seven he was making arrange- 
ments for translating into English verse the great poem of Homer, and 
that translation is pronounced by Dr. Samuel Johnson, to be '" the noblest 
version of poetry which the world has ever seen," and he considers its 
publication as *' one of the great events in the annals of learning." He 
translated also twelve books of the Odyssey of Homer. His political 
writings are numerous and highly valued. For a critical account of them, 
Dr. Johnson's memoir of Pope may be consulted. 

Thomson, in the text, alludes to the eminence which Pope had reached 
as a poet when he speaks of his descending from the Muses' hill, and 
while he alludes to the sweet versification of his Homer, he compliments 
him most highly, by the remark that his life is an equally sweet and a 
more enduring song. Bolingbroke, during the last illness of Pope, re- 
marked to Spence that he never in his life knew a man that had so tender 
a heart for his particular friends, or more general friendship for mankind. 
Johnson says that in familiar or convivial conversation he did not excel, 
and that he resembled' Dry den, as being not one that was distinguished 
by vivacity in company. But it seems that he had other qualities of a 
social and intellectual character that made his society a source of "great 
and peculiar fascination to our author. A slight sketch of these qualities 
may be found, with other interesting particulars, by referring to note 1426 
in " Summer." 

The " hnmble roof" in -which Thomson entertained his " chosen friends'* 
was in Kew-lane, near Richmond, in Surrey, about nine miles southwest 
from London — a distance he was accustomed frequently to walk with 
some literary friend. It was a very retired and agreeable retreat; vs'here, 
for some of the last years of his life, he divided his time between his 
learned friends and his poetic compositions. In regard to the former, he 
seems, from the text, to have been wisely select, and to have cultivated 
the society of those only who contributed to rational improvement and 
. delight, of whom Pope seems to have been most welcome. 

His society (we are told by a biographer) was select and distinguished 
Pope, Hill, Dr. Armstrong, the Bishop of Derry, Sir Andrew Mitcliell. 
Dr. De La Corn, Mallet, Hammond, Quin, and above all, Mr. George Lyt- 
.tleton, were his most intimate friends : Pope courted Thomson, and 
Thomson was always admitted to Pope, whether he had compUny or not 
Collins also seems to have been an associate. 



WLN'l'KR. 299 

Where art thou, Hammond ? thou, the darling pride, 555 
The friend and lover of the tuneful throng ! 
Ah, why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime 
Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast 
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay, 
Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so soon ? 560 

What now avails that noble thirst of fame. 
Which stung thy fervent breast ? that treasured store 
Of knowledge, early gain'd ? that eager zeal 
To serve thy country, glowing in the band 
Of youthful patriots, who sustain her name? 565 

What now, alas ! that life-diffusing charm 

Thomson's cliaracter (says one) was in every respect consistent with 
what his writings lead us to expect : he was liigh-minded, amiable, gen- 
erous, and humane. Equable in his temper, and affiible in his deportment, 
he was rarely ruffled but by the knowledge of some act of cruelty or in- 
justice ; and aa he magnanimously forgave the petty assaults which envy 
<^- malignity levelled at him, and stood aloof from the poetical warfare 
which raged with great heat during some part of his career, he was soon, 
as if by common consent, respected by all the belligerents. 

In the last walk which Thomson took from London to his residence 
.tiear Richmond, he overheated himself, and imprudently, while in that 
state, took a boat part of the way to carry him to Ke'w ; but the chill 
air of the river gave him a cold, which led to a fever that in a few days 
tcTOiinated his Ufe, in 1148. Collins, the poet, had gone to reside at 
Richmond for the sake of being near to Thomson, but when the latter 
died Colhns quitted the place in sorrow, and published a touching Elegy,' 
which may be seen in the early part of this volume. Shenstone, the 
poet, was another friend of Thomson, who, in a letter, professed himself 
much shocked to heaa* of the death of a friend, whose society he could so 
ill afford to relinquish. 

555, James Hammond seems to have been another of Thomson's select 
friends, whom he highly eulogizes. According to Dr. Aikin, he was a 
popular elegiac poet ; was educated at Westminster school, wh.ere at a# 
early age he obtained the friendship of several persons of distinction, 
among whom were Lords Cobham, Chesterfield, and Lyttleton ; was made 
a member of Parliament in 17-li, aad died in June, 1742, at tlie seat of 
Lord Cobham, at Stowe. An unfortunate passion for a young lady, who 
was cold to his addresses, is thought to have disordered his mind, and 
perhaps contributed to his premature death. Hammond was a man of 
amiable character, and was mucli regretted by his friends, 



500 WINTER. 

Of sprightly wit ? that rapture for the Muse ? 

That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy, 

Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile ? 

Ah ! only show'd, to check our fond pursuits, 670 

And teach our humble hopes that life is vain ! 



"WINTER EVENING STUDIES AND AMUSEMENTS. 

Thus in some deep retirement would I pass 
The Winter glooms, with friends of pliant soul. 
Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspired : 
With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame 5*75 
Was caird, late rising from the void of night. 
Or sprung eternal from th' Eternal Mind ; 
Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end. 
Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole 
Would, gradual, open on our opening minds ; 580 

And each diffusive harmony unite 
In full perfection, to th' astonish'd eye. 
Then would we try to scan the moral world. 
Which, though to ns it seems embroil'd, moves on 
In higher order ; fitted and impelFd . 585 

By Wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all 
In general good. The sage historic Muse 
Should next conduct us through tlie deeps of time ; 
Show us how empire grew, declined, and fell. 
In scatter'd states ; what makes the nations smile, 590 
Improves their soil, and gives them double suns ; 
And why they pine beneath the brightest skies. 



684. EmhroiVd: Confused and irregular. 

C87. Historic Muse : Muse presiding over history. 

591. Double suns may hero denote double fertility and al undance, as 
the harvest depends greatly on the sun's beat. Towards the ec^uator tho 
earth produces double harvests each vear. 



WINTER. 301 

In Nature's richest lap. As tluis we talk'd, 

Our hearts would burn within us ; would inhale 

That portion of divinity, that ray 595 

Of purest heaven, which lights the public soul 

Of patriots and of heroes. But if doom'd. 

In powerless humble fortune, to n press 

These ardent risings of the kindling soul ; 

Then, even superior to ambition, we 600 

Would learn the private virtues ; how to glide 

Through shades and plains, along the smoothest stream 

Of rural life; or, snatch 'd away by hope. 

Through the dim spaces of futurity. 

With earnest eye anticipate those scenes 605 

Of happiness and wonder, where the mind. 

In endless growth and infinite ascent. 

Rises from state to state, and world to world. 

But when with these the serious thought is foil'd. 

We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes 610 

Of frolic fancy ; and incessant form 

Those rapid pictures, that assembled train 

Of fleet ideas, never join'd before, 

Whence lively wit excites to gay surprise ; 

Or folly*painting humor, grave himself, 616 

Calls laughter forth, deep shaking every nerve. 
Mccintime the village rouses up the fire ; 

While well attested, and as well believed. 

Heard solemn, goes the goblin story round ; 

Till superstitious horror creeps o'er all. 620 

Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake 

The rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round ; 

The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart. 

Easily pleased ; the long loud laugh, sincere ; 

The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the sidelong maid, 625 

On purpose guardless or pretending sleep ; 

The leap, the slap, the haul ; and, shook to notes 



302 WINTER. 

Of native music, the respondent dance. 

Thus jocund fleets with them the Winter night. 

WINTER EVENING IN THE CITY. 

The city swarms intense. The pubHc haunt, 630 

Full of each theme, and warm with mix'd discourse, 
Hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow 
Down the loose stream of false enchanted joy 
To swift destruction. On the rankled soul 
The gaming fury falls ; and in one gulf 635 

Of total ruin, honor, virtue, peace, 
Friends, families, and fortune, headlong sink. 
Up springs the dance along the the lighted dome, 
Mix'd and evolved a thousand sprightly ways. 
The glittering court effuses every pomp ; 640 

The circle deepens ; beam'd from gaudy robes. 
Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes, 
A soft eff"ulgence o'er the palace waves : 
While, a gay insect in his summer-shine, 
The fop, light-fluttering, spreads his mealy wings. 645 

Dread o'er the scene" the ghost of Hamlet stalks; 
Othello rages ; poor Monimia mourns ; * 

And Belvidera pours her soul in love. 
Terror alarms the breast. The comely tear 
Steals o'er the cheek ; or else the Comic Muse 650 

Holds to the world a picture of itself, 
And raises sly the fair impartial laugh. 
Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes 
Of beauteous life ; whate'er can deck mankind, 
Or charm the heart in generous Bevil show'd. 655 

646-9. The author here refers to the characters that figure in several 
tragedies. 

655. Bevil is a character in the play cf the " Conscious Lovers" by Sir 
Richard Steele 



WINTER. . ' 303 

O Thou, whose wisdom, solid }et refined. 
Whose patriot virtues, and consummate skill 
To touch Ae finer springs that move the^world, 
Join'd to whate'er the Graces can bestow, 
And all Apollo's animating fire, 660 

Give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine 
At once the guardian, ornament, and joy 
Of polish'd life ; permit the rural Muse, 
Chesterfield, to grace with thee her song ! . 
Ere to the shades again she humbly flies, 665 

Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train, 
(For every Muse has in thy train a place,) 
To mark thy various, full-accomplish'd mind ; 
To mark that spirit which, with British scom. 
Rejects th' allurements of corrupted power; 670 

That elegant politeness, which excels. 
E'en in the judgment of presumptuous France, 
The boasted manners of her shining courts 
That wit, the vivid energy of sense. 

The truth of Nature, which, with Attic point 675 

And kind well-temper'd satire, smoothly keen, 

664. Chesterfield: Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield (1694- 
r<73), (as Chambers remarks) was an elegant author, though his only 
popular composition is his " Letters to his Son," a work containing 
many excellent advices for the cultivation of the mind, and improvement 
of the external worldly character, but, greatly deficient in all the higher 
points of morality. Lord Chesterfield was an able poUtician and diplo- 
matist, and an eloquent parliamentary debater. The celebrated " Letters 
to his Son" were not intended for publication, and did not appear till after 
his death. Their publication was much to be regretted by every friend 
of this accomplished, witty, and eloquent peer. 

675. With Attic point : "With point worthy of Attica, or of Athens, its 
capital. The term Attic, from the eminent attainments of its men of 
literature and art, is applied to any thing peculiarly excellent in literature 
and art. Aii Brande observes, the term Sal Atticum (Attic salt) v/as em- 
ployed by the Romans at once to characterize the poignancy of wit and 
brilliancy of style peculiar to the Athenian writers, and to designate the 
livehnoan, spirituality, and refined taste of the inhabitants of tliat city. 



304: ' WINTER. 

Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects. 

Or, rising thence with yet a brighter flame, 

0, let me hail thee on some glorious day. 

When to the li'stening senate, ardent, crowd 680 

Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause. 

Then dress'd by thee, more amiably fair. 

Truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears. 

Thou to assenting reason givest again 

Her own enlighten'd thoughts; call'd from the heart, 685 

Th' obedient passions on thy voice attend ; 

And e'en reluctant party feels a while 

Thy gracious power ; as through the varied maze 

Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong. 

Profound, and clear, you roll the copious flood. 690 

THE VARIOUS OPERATIONS AND EFFECTS OF FROST. 

To thy loved haunt return, ray happy Muse ; 
For now, 4>ehold, the joyous Winter days. 
Frosty, succeed ; and through the blue serene. 
For sight too fine, th' ethereal nitre flies, 
Killing infectious damps, and the spent air 695 

vhich formed the focus and central point of all the eloquence and refine- 
ment of the Greeks. 

694. Etherial nitre : Som^ of Thomson's notions on subjects of the 
chemical department are crude and almost unintelligible, though we can 
readily excuse him on this point, because cliemistry, in his day, was al- 
most an unexplored field. His theory, and perhaps that of his times, 
seems to be, that the air abounded, in the Winter season, with saline par- 
ticles, called by him nitrous particles, which exerted a beneficial influence 
upon vegetation, and upon animal health, and growth, and vigor. 

Perhaps, however, by etherial nitre he only means the element oi frost, 
manifesting itself in the material world in a form not unlike the efflores- 
cence, the minute crystallizations of nitre on the surface of the ground, iu 
many parts of the world. 

These views are strengthened by looking forward to 714, &c., where he 
speaks of the potent energy of frost as* consisting of myriads of little saltSf 
or hooked, or shaped, like double wedges, &c. 



WINTER. 305 

Storing afresh wiUi elemental life. 

Close crowds the shining atmosphere ; and binds 

Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace, 

Constringent ; feeds and animates our blood ; 

Refines our spirits, through the new-strung nerves lOO 

In swifter sallies darting to the brain ; 

Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool. 

Bright as the skies, and as the season keen. 

All Nature feels the renovating force 

Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye 705 

In ruin seen. The frost-concocted glebe 

Draws in abundant vegetable soul. 

And gathers vigor for the coming year. 

A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek 

Of ruddy fire ; and luculent along 710 

The purer rivers flow : their sullen deeps, 

Transparent, open to the shepherd's gaze. 

And murmur hoarser at the fixing frost. 

What art thoft, frost ? and Avhence are thy keen stores 
Derived, thou secret, all-invading power, 715 

Whom e'en th' illusive fluid cannot fly ? 
Is not thy potent energy, unseen. 
Myriads of little salts, or hook'd, or shaped 
Like double wedges, and diffused immense 
Through water, earth, and ether ? Hence, at eve, 720 
Steam'd eager from the red horizon round. 
With the fierce rage of Winter deep suffused. 
An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool 
Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career 

697. Close crowds, &c. : Renders the fitmosphere more dense and heavy. 

723-5. An icy gale, &c.: Upon this and a contiguous passage, relating 
to the operations of frost, let us attend to some pleasant remarks of Prof. 
Wilson :— Did you ever see water beginning to change itself into ice ? 
Yes. Then try to describe the eight. Success in that trial will prove 
you a poet. People do not prove themselves poets only by writing long 



oOG WINTER. 

Arrests the bickering stream. The loosen'd ice, 725 

Let down the flood, and half dissolved by day, 

Rustles no more ; but to the sedo'v bank 

Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone, 

A crystd pavement, by the breath of heaven 

Cemented firm ; till, seized from shore to shore, 730 

The whole imprison'd river growls below.. 

Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects 

A double noise ; while, at his evening watch. 

The village dog deters the nightly thief; 

The heifer lows ; the distant waterfall 735 

Swells in the breeze ; and, with the hasty tread 

Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain, 

Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round. 

Infinite worlds disclosing to the view, 

Shines out intensely keen ; and, all one cope 740 

Of starry glitter, glows from pole to pole. 

From pole to pole the rigid influence falls. 

Through the still niglit, incessant, hea;Vy, strong, 

And seizes Nature fast. It freezes on ; 

Till morn, late rising o'er the drooping world, 745 



poems. A line — two words — may show that they are the Muses' sons. 
How exquisitely does Burns picture to our eyes moonlight water under- 
going an ice-change ! 

"The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam, 
Crept gently crusting o'er the glittering stream V 

Thomson does it with an almost finer spirit of perception — or conception 
— or memory — or whatever else you choose to call it ; for our part, wd 
call it genius : 

" An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool 
Breathes a hlueJUm, and in its mid career 
Arrests the bickering stream." 

And afterwards, having frozen the entire stream into a "crystal pave- 
ment," how gloriously doth he conclude thus : 

" Tlie whole impruoii'd river grmols helow.^ 

725. Bickering : Rippling, moving with a tremulous surface 



WINTER. 



307 



Lifts lier pale eye, unjoyous. Then appears 

The various labor of the silent night : 

Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade, 

Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, 

The pendent icicle ; the frost-work fair, ' 7(50 

750. The pendent icicle, <fec. : .The most beautiful specimen oi pendent 
icicle and frost-work fair that Nature has perhaps ever displayed, at 
least in this hemisphere, was that which occurred in Massaclmsetts, at 
Amherst, in the winter of 1849, and of which Dr. Hitchcock, President of 
Amlierst College, kas furnished a most graphic account in his admirable 
Lecture on the " Coronation of Winter," from which I am happy here to 
present an extract, not having space for the whole account. I pass over 
what he says of the antecedents of the spectacle, and of the spectacle 
itself for the first three days, excepting one sentence, in which he de- 
scribes it thus : " If the twigs of every tree and shrub and spire had been 
literally covered with diamonds of the purest water, and largest known 
size, say an inch in diameter, they would not, I am sure, have poured 
upon the eye in the sunlight a more dazzUng splendor." He proceeds 
to say : 

T could not believe that any more splendid developments of this phe- 
lomenon awaited me. But on Saturday night the thermometer sunk to 
z-n-o, and on Sunday morning the sun arose in a cloudless sky, and the icy. 
shoots and pendants, more thoroughly crystallized by the intense cold, 
formed ten thousand points of overwhelming brightness on every side. 
Nor were all the sparkling brilliants, as on the day before, of colorless 
light. But here and there I began to notice the prismatic colors ; now 
exhibiting a gem of most splendid sapphire blue ; next one of ametliyst- 
iue purple ; next one of intense topaz yellow ; then a sea-green beryl, 
changing, by a slight change of posture, into a rich emerald green ; and 
then one of deep hyacinth red. As the sun approached the meridian, the 
number and spfendor of these colored gems increased ; so that on a single 
tree hundreds of them might be seen, and sometimes sr» large was their 
size, and intense their color, that at a distance of fifty rods they seemed 
equal to Sirius, nay, to the morning star ! and of hues the most delicate 
and rich that can be conceived of, exactly imitating, so far as I could 
judge, the natural gems; and not partaking at all of those less delicate 
and gaudy tints, by which a practised eye can distinguish genuine from 
supposititious precious stones. And by moving the eye a few inches, we 
could see these different colors pass into one another, and thus witness the 
rich intermediate shades. I have seen many splendid groups of precious 
stones, wrought and'unwrought, in the large collections of our land; and 
until I witnessed this scene, they seemed of great beauty ; but it is now 
literally true that thry appealed to me comparatively dull and iusiguifi- 



808 WINTER. 

Where transient hues and fancied figures rise ; 

Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook, 

A Hvid tract, cold gleaming on the morn ; 

The forest bent beneath tlie plumy wave ; 

And by the frost refined the whiter snow, 755 

cant. In short, it seemed as if I was gazing upon a landscape which had' 
before existed only in a poet's imagination. It is what he would call a 
fairy land ; but a more Christian designation would be, a celestial land. 

On Monday it was cloudy, and the phenomena presented no new aspect. 
On Tuesday there was a storm of fine rain and snow, and the beautiful 
transparency of the icy coat was changed into the aspect of ground glass. 
This gave to the tfces a new and more delicate appearance. They re- 
sembled enchased work, formed of pure unburnished silver ; and had the 
sun shone upon them, they must have been intensely beautiful. I now 
supposed that the most brilliant part of this scene — its golden period — 
had passed, and that the silver period of Tuesday would soon be succeed- 
ed by the usual iron reign of Winter, especially as there fell several inclies 
of snow during the night. But the cold restored the ice upon tlie trees 
to more than its original transparency, and the sun rose on Wednesday 
morning upon a cloudless sky ; and a wind scattered the snow from the 
branches, and all the phenomena opened upon us with more than their 
sabbath- day glories. 

As the sun approached the meridian, one had only to receive his raya 
at a certain angle, refracted through the crystal covering of a tree, in or- 
der to witness gems more splendid than art ever prepared. Four-fifths 
of them were diamonds, but the sapphires were numerous ; the topaz and 
the berjd not infrequent, and occasionally the chrysolite and the hyacinth 
shone with intense brilliancy. There was wind also on that day ; and as 
the branches waved to and fro, these various gems appeared and vanish- 
ed, and re-appeared in endless variety ; chaining the eye to the spot, 
until the overpowered optic nerve shrunk from its office! But the rich 
vision did not cease through all that cloudless day. Nor did it terminate 
when the sun went down ; for then the full-orbed moon arose, and gave 
another most bewitching aspect to the scene. During the day the light 
had been painfully intense ; but the softness of moonlight permitted the 
eye to gaze and gaze untired, and yet the splendor seemed hardly less 
than through the day. Most of the bright points were of a mild topaz 
yellow, and when seen against the heavens could hardly be distinguished 
from the stars; or when seen in the forest, especially as one passed rap- 
idly along, it seemed as if countless fire-flies were moving among the 
branches. Yet, occasionally, I saw other colors of the spectrum, espe- 
cially the bluish-green of the beryl Through that live-long night did 
these indescribable glories meet the eye of the observer. And on Thurs- 



AVINTEK. 



309 



Incrusted bard, and sounding to the tread 
Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks 
His pining flock, or from the mountain top. 
Pleased with the slippery surface, swift descends. 

SPORTS ON THE ICE AND SNOW* 

On bhthesorae frolics bent, the youthful swains, 760 

While every work of man is laid at rest. 
Fond o'er the river crowd, in various sport 
And revelry dissolved ; where mixing glad, 
Happiest of all the train ! the raptured boy 
Lashes the whirling top. Or, where the Rhine 165 

Branch'd out in many a long canal extends. 
From every province swarming, void of care, 
Batavia rushes forth : and, as they sweep, 
On sounding skates, a thousand different ways. 
In circling poise, swift as the winds, along, 770 

The then gay land is madden'd all to joy. 
Nor less the northern courts, wdde o'er the snow 

day another cloudless morning and clear shining sun brought back the 
glories of Wednesday : nay, to my eye this last day of the spectacle 
seemed the most splendid of all ; and one could hardly realize that he 
•was not translated to some celestial region. 

Job speaks of the balancing of the clouds as among the mysteries of 
ancient philosophy ; but how much nicer the balaneing and counterbal- 
ancing of the complicated agencies of the atmosphere, in order to bring 
out this glacial miracle in its full perfection ! What wisdom and power, 
short of infinite, could have brought it about ! and when, we may ask, 
shall it be witnessed again ? Hardly dare we hope, during our short 
lives, again to see the time when all the requisite contingencies shall 
conspire to bring this identical phenomenon before us, that we may feast 
our eyes with its beauties. Let us be thankful that we have seen it once, 
and for so many days, and under so many phases ; and let us not fail td 
learn from it a new and impressive lesson of the infinite skill and benevo- 
lence of the Author of Nature. 

768. Batavia : Here used for tho people of Batavia, or Holland, which 
abounds in canals. 

772. Northern courts: The nobility of the northern countries of Europe. 



310 , ' WINTER. , 

Pour a new pomp. Eager, on rapid sleds, 

Their vigorous youth in bold contention wheel 

The lono- resoundinor course. Meantime to raise 775 

o o 

The manly strife, with higlily blooming charms, 
Flush'd by the season, Scandinavia's dames. 
Or Russia's buxom daughters, glow around. 

Pure, quick, and sportful is the wholesome day; 
But soon elapsed. The horizontal sun, 780 

Broad o'er the south, hangs at his utmost noon, 
And, ineffectual, strikes the gelid cliff. 
His azure gloss the mountain still maintains, 
Nor feels the feeble touch. Perhaps the vale 
Relents a while to the reflected ray ; V85 

Or from the forest falls the clustef'd snow. 
Myriads of gems, that in the waving gleam 
Gay twinkle as they scatter. Thick around 
Thunders the sport of those, who with the gun. 
And dog impatient bounding at the shot, 790 

Worse than the Season, desolate the fields ; 
And, adding to the ruins of the year. 
Distress the footed or the feather'd game. 

WINTER SCENES IN THE FRIGID ZONE. 

But what is this ? our infant Winter sinks 
Divested of his grandeur, should our eye 795 

Astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone ; 
Where, for relentless months, continual night 
Holds o'er the glittering waste her starry reign. 

There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, 
Barr'd by the hand of Nature from escape, 800 

Wide roams the Russian exile. Nauo-ht around 



777. Scandinavia: This is the ancient name for Sweden and Norway 
formerly united in one kingdom. 



WINTER. 



311 



Strikes- his sad eye but deserts lost in snow, 

And heavy-loaded groves, and solid floods, 

Tliat stretch, athwart the solitary vast, 

Their icy horrors to the frozen main ; 805 

And cheerless towns far distant, never bless'd, 

Save when its annual course the caravan 

Bends to the golden coast of ricli Cathay 

With news of humankind. Yet there life gbws ; 

Yet cherish'd there, beneath the shining waste, 810 

The furry nations harbor : tipp'd with jet. 

Fair ermines, spotless as the snows they press ; 

Sables, of glossy black ; and dark-embrown'd, 

Or beauteous freak'd with many a mingled hue, ' 

Thousands besides, the costly pride of courts. 815 

There, warm, together press'd, the trooping deer 

Sleep on the new-fallen snows ; and, scarce his head 

808. Cathay : The name formerly given to China. 

812. Ermine: A species of Mustela, or Stoat, dittermg from the com 
mon weazel in being about one-third larger, and in having a somewhat 
broader head and a longer tail. In the summer season the upper part of 
the head, neck, and body, and the greater part of the tail, are of a pale 
reddish-brown color ; tip of the tail black, and somewhat bushy. In the 
winter the whole of the body becomes white, slightly tinged with yel- 
low ; but the black termination of the tail is permanent. The fur is closer 
and finer at this season, especially in the colder latitudes, from which 
countries the ermine affords one of the most beautiful and valuable of 
furs. When made up, the tails are inserted one to each skin, at regular 
distances, and in the quincunx order ; and thus arranged tlie ermine fur 
forms tlie distinctive doubling of the state robes of sovereigns and nobles, 
as well as of their crowns and coronets. — Brande. 

813, Sable : A small quadruped, allied to the martin-cat, celebrated for 
the fine quality and rich color of its fur, of which the hairs turn with 
equal ease in every direction. A single skin of the darker color, though 
not above four inches broad, has been valued as high as fifteen pounds 
sterhng. The sable is principally a na'ive of the northern regions of 
Asia : it is hunted and killed for the Russian market, either by a single 
ball, a blunt arrow, or traps, by exiles or soldiers sent for that purpose 
in the deserts of Siberia. A nearly allied animal, called " the fisher," 
inhabits North America, and is similarly sought after, and destroyed for 
its fiu". — Beande. 



31^ WINTER. 

"Raised o'er the lie:ipy wreath, the branching elk ' 

Lies slumbering sullen in the white abyss. 

The ruthless hunter wants nor dogs nor toils ; 82C 

Nor with the dread of sounding bows he drives 

The fearful, flying race : with ponderous clubs, 

As weak against the mountain lieaps they push 

Their beating breast in vain, and piteous bray. 

He lays them quivering on th' ensanguined snows, 825 

And with loud shouts rejoicing bears them home. 

There through the piny forest, half absorb'd. 

Rough tenant of these shades, the shapeless bear. 

With dangling ice all horrid, stalks forlorn. 

Slow-paced, and sourer as the storms increase, 830 

He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift. 

And, with stern patience, scorning weak complaint. 

Hardens his heart against assailing want. 

Wide o'er the spacious regions of the north, 
That see Bootes urge his tardy wain, 835 

A boisterous race, by frosty Caurus pierced. 
Who little pleasure know and fear no pain, 
Prolific swarm. They once relumed the flame 
Of lost mankind in polish'd slavery sunk ; 
Drove martial horde on horde, with dreadful sweep 840 
Resistless rushing o'er th' enfeebled south, 
And gave the vanquish'd world another form. 
Not such the sons of Lapland : wisely they 
Despise th' insensate, barbarous trade of war ; 
They ask no more than simple Nature gives ; 845 

835. Bootes : Bear-driver, one of the northern constellations. Wain : 
"Wagon. 

836. Caurus : The northwest wind. 

840. Horde on horde : The wandering Scythian clans- -the Huns, Van- 
dals, &c. — that originalty occupied the northern part of Asia and the 
northeastern section of Europe, and thence made incursions into southern 
and western Europe — entirely changing the political and social aspect, 
and literature, of the countries they overrun and subdued. 



WINTER. 313 

They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms. 
No false desires, no pride- created wants, 
Disturb the peaceful current of their time. 
And through the restless, ever tortured maze 
Of pleasure or ambition, bid it rage. 850 

Their reindeer form their riches. These their tents, 
Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth 
Supply ; their wholesome fare and cheerful cups. 
*■ Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe 

Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift 855 
O'er hill and dale, heap'd into one expanse 
Of marbled snow, as far as eye can sweep. 
With a blue crust of ice unbounded glazed. 
By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shako 

551. Reindeer : The singular usefulness of this animal in a great meas- 
ure recompenses the Laplander for the privation of the other comforts of 
life. The reindeer in summer live upon leaves and grass, and in winter 
upon moss, which they dig up from under the snow ; yet upon such 
scanty fare they will perform a journey of inconceivable length. The 
animal is fixed to a kind of sledge, shaped hke a small boat, in which the 
traveller, well secured from cold, is laced down ; and taking the reins, 
which are fastened to the horns of the animal, in one hand, and a kind of 
bludgeon, to keep the carriage clear of ice and snow, in the other, he sets 
out and continues his journey with incredible speed (200 miles a day), the 
animals choosing the road and directing their course with very little trouble 
to the traveller. Their milk and cheese are nutritive and pleasant ; their 
flesh is well-tasted food, whether fresh or dried ; their skin forms excel- 
lent clothing both for the bed and body ; and their intestines and tendons 
supply their masters with thread and cordage. 

The maritime districts of Lapland are of uniform and rather mild tem- 
perature ; but in the interior the winter is intensely cold : in the most 
northern parts the sun remains below tlie horizon from the 20th of No- 
vember to the 10th of January ; and the whole country is covered with 
snow and ice from the beginning of September to the middle of March. 
In summer the sun continues two months above the horizon ; and in the 
valleys and plains the heat is excessive, favoring the production of nu- 
merous insects, particularly the musquitoes, which greatly infest the in- 
habitants. Like the Icelanders, they consider their country the finest in 
the universe. — Brookes. 

869. Dancing meteors : These are generally supposed to proceed from 

U 



S^14 WINTER. 

A waving blaze, refracted o'er the heavens, 860 

And vivid moons, and stars that keener play 

With double lustre from the glossy waste. 

E'en in the depth of polar night, they find 

A wondrous day ; enough to light the chase, 

Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs. 865 

Wish'd Spring returns ; and from the hazy south. 

While dim Aurora slowly moves before, 

The welcome sun, just verging up at first, * 

By small degrees extends the swelling curve ; 

Till seen at last for gay rejoicing months, 870 

Still round and round his spiral course he winds, 

And as he nearly dips his flaming orb. 

Wheels up again, and reascends the sky ! 

In that glad season, from the lakes and floods, 

Where pure Niemi's fairy mountains rise, 875 



electricity. From Flint's Lectures, I derive the following illustration : — 
Electricity is the sun of the poles, like that planet imparting life and an- 
imation to the atmosphere and the earth. Under its influence, as il 
fostered by the solar ray, plants acquire hardihood, life, energy, and en- 
joyment, and the blood a rapidity of circulation ■which prevents the 
inclemency of the climate from being felt. Every one knows that the 
polar year is composed of one day and one nii^ht. The sun ascends the 
sky at the vernal equinox, and holds its revolutions above the horizon for 
Bix months. It then slowly disappears ; but a long and beautiful twilight 
softens the gloom of its departure as it preceded its coming. As soon as 
all traces of the glorious planet have disappeared, innumerable varying 
luminous spectacles kindle in the sky. Flames of a thousand hues, glit- 
tering globes, and scarfs of light flash aci'oss the extent of the heavens. 
These meteors silently traverse the celestial spaces, uniting in the zenith, 
where they form porticoes, arches, and gulfs of fire. One wide conflagra- 
tion seems to fill the heavens, where Aurora Borealis reigns the superb 
aerial meteor of the ascendant. See note on 903. 

875. Memi : M, De Maupertius, in his book on the Figure of the Earth, 
after having described the beautiful lake and mountain of Niemi, in Lap- 
land, says : '* From this height we had opportunity several times to see 
those vapors rise from the lake, which the people of the country call Hal- 
tiofl, and which they deem to be the guardian spirits of the mountaina 
We had been frighted with stories of bears that haunted this place, but 



VVINTKK. 



315 



And fringed with roses Tenglio rolls his stream, 

They draw the copious fry. With these, at eve. 

They, cheerful loaded, to their tents repair ; 

Where, all day long in useful cares employ'd. 

Their kind, unblemish'd wives the fire prepare. 880 

Thrice happy race ! by po^ jrty secured 

From legal plunder and rapacious power ; 

In whom fell interest never yet has sown 

The seeds of vice ; whose spotless swains ne'er knew 

Injurious deed , nor blasted by the breath 885 

Of faithless love, their blooming daughters woe. 



THE AWFUL GRANDEUR OF THE POLAR REGIONS. 

Still pressing on, beyond Tornea's lake. 
And Hecla flaming through a waste of snow. 
And furthest Greenland, to the pole itself. 
Where, failing gradual, life at length goes out, 890 

The Muse expands her solitary flight ; 
And, hovering o'er the wild stupendous scene, 
Beholds new seas beneath another sky. 
Throned in his palace of cerulean ice. 
Here Winter holds his unrejoicing court ; 895 



^aw none. It seemed rather a place of resort for fairies and genii, than 
bears." 

876. Tenglio : The same author observes: " Iwas surprised to see upon 
the banks of this river (the Tenglio) roses of as lively a red as any that 
are in our gardens." 

887. Torneas lake : Tornea, a river of Sweden, takes its rise in the 
borders of Norway, and forms a lake bearing the same name, and then 
flows southeast into the Gulf of Bothnia, below Tornea, a place of some 
trade under the government of Finland. 

888. Hecla is a volcanic mountain in Iceland, This island is a depend- 
ency of Denmark, and contains some other volcanoes, the actum of which 
m 1783 exceeded in violence and terror any other eruptions that are on 
record. 

893. Another shy : The other henisphere. 



31 6 WINTER. 

And through his airy hall the loud misrule 

Of driving tempest is forever heard : 

Here the grim tyrant meditates his wrath ; 

Here arms his winds with all-subduing frost ; 

Moulds his fierce hail, and treasures up his snows, 900 

With which he now oppresses half the globe. 

Thence, winding eastward to the Tartar's coast. 
She sweeps the howling margin of the main ; 
Where, undissolving, from the first of time, 
Snows swell on snows amazing to the sky ; 905 

And icy mountains, high on mountains piled, 
Seem to the shivering sailor from afar. 
Shapeless and white, an atmosphere of clouds. 
Projected huge and horrid o'er the surge, 
Alps frown on Alps ; or, rushing hideous down, 910 

(As if old Chaos was again return'd,) 
Wide rend the deep, and shake the solid pole. 
Ocean itself no longer can resist 
The binding fury ; but in all its rage 

903. Ifain : The ocean lying to the north of Asia. At the North Cape 
(says Bucke), Acerbi felt as if all the cares of life had vanished; worldly 
pursuits assumed the character of dreams ; the forms and energies of an- 
imated nature seemed to fade away, and the earth appeared as if it were 
about to revert to its original elements (911). A solemn «iagnificence, an 
interminable space, wearing the aspect of infinity, characterized the scene. 
The billows dashed in awful grandeur against rocks coeval with the globe ; 
marine birds, wild in character and dissonant in language, skimmed along 
their girdles ; the moon shed her solemn lustre on their dark and frown- 
ing pyramids ; the stars glowed with burnished brilliancy ; and the -4?^- 
rora Borealis added terrific interest to the gloomy majesty of the whole. 

And what (he adds) can be more awful, and, at the same time, more 
beautiful, than the wild and mysterious motions and colors which this 
polar phenomenon presents? sometimes covering with inconceivable 
magnificence the concave of the whole hemisphere, changing its positions 
every moment ; now resembling vast pyramids, or stretching into innu- 
merable columns, varying their shapes and hues with astonishing rapidity 
and with endless caprice ; now vanishing in an instant, leaving the heav- 
ens sombre and black ; and again suddenly returning with increased spleiv 
dor, shedding a matchless glory over the whole sky. 



w i:\TER. 317 

Of tempest, taken by the boundless frost, 915 

Is many a fathom to the bottom chain'd, 

And bid to roar no more : a bleak expanse, 

Shagg'd o'er with wavy rocks, cheerless and void 

Of every life, that from the dreary months 

Flies conscious southward. > Miserable they 1 920 

Who, here entangled in the gathering ice. 

Take their last look of the descending sun ; 

While, full of death and fierce with tenfold frost. 

The long, long night, incumbent o'er their heads. 

Falls horrible. Such was the Briton's fate, ' 925 

As with first prow (what have not Britons dared ?) 

He for the passage sought, attempted since 

So much in vain, and seeming to be shut 

By jealous nature with eternal bars. 

In these fell regions in Arzina caught, 930 

And to the stony deep his idle ship 

925. Briton's fate : Sir Hugh Willougbby, sent by Queen Elizabeth to 
discover the nortlaeast passage, 

930-935. In these fell region^, &c. : To prepare the way for a criticism 
on this admirable passage, Prof. Wilson observes : — How pleasant to see 
the peculiar genius of Cowper contrasted with that of Thomson. The 
gentle Cowper delighting, for the most part, in tranquil images — for hia 
life wa? passed amidst tranquil nature ; the enthusiastic Thomson more 
pleased with images of power. Cowper says : 

" On the flood, 
Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight 
Lies undissolved while silenUi/ heneath 
And unperceioed the current steals away.^ 

Hovr many thousand times the lines we are now going t:t> quote have been 
quoted, nobody can tell ; but we quote them once more for the purpose 
of asking you, if you think any one poet of tliis age could have written 
them — could have chilled one's very soul as well as body, with such in- 
tense feeling of cold ? Not one. 

" In these fell regions, in Arzina caught, 
And to tJie stoni/ deep his idle ship 
Immediate seal'd, he with his liapless crew, 
Each full exerted at his several task, 
Froee into statues— to the cordage ghted 
The sailor, and the pilot to his Jielm /" 



318 WINTER. 

Immediate seal'd, lie with his hapless crew, 

Each full exerted at his several task, 

Froze into statues ; to the cordage glued 

The sailor, and the pilot to the helm. &35 

Hard by these shores, where scarce his freezing stream 
Rolls the wild Ob}^ live the last of men ; 
And, half enhven'd by the distant sun, 
That rears and ripens man as well as plants, 
Here human Nature wears its rudest form. 040 

Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves. 
Here by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer. 
They waste the tedious gloom. Immersed in furs. 
Doze the gross race. Nor sprightly jest, nor song. 
Nor tenderness they know ; nor auglit of life 945 

Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without ; 
Till morn at length, her roses drooping all. 



The oftener — the more we read the " Winter" — especially the last two or 
three hundred lines — the angrier is our wonder with Wordsworth for as- 
serting that Thomson owed the national popularity that his " Winter" 
immediately won, to his commonplace sentimentalities, and his vicious 
style ! Yet true it is that he was sometimes guilty of both ; and, but 
for his transcendent genius, they might have obscured the lustre of his 
fame. But such sins are not very frequent in the " Seasons," and were 
all committed in the glow of that fine and bold enthusiasm, which, to bis 
imagination, arrayed all things, and all words, in a light that seemed to 
him at the time to be poetry — though sometimes it was but " false glit- 
ter." Besides, he was but young ; and his great work was his first. He 
had not philosophized his language into poetry, as Wordsworth himself 
has done, after long years of profoundest study of the laws of thought 
and speech. But in such study, while much is gamed, is not -something 
lost ? And is there not a charm in the free, flowing, chartered libertinism 
of the diction and versification of the " Seasons" — above all, in the closing 
strains of the " Winter," and in the whole of the " Hymn," which inspires 
a delight and wonder, that is seldom breathed|Lipon us — glorious poem, 
on the whole, as it is — from the more measured march of the " Ex- 
cursion." 

937. Oby : the largest river of Siberia— 1900 miles long, and navigable 
nearly the whole distance. The last of men occupy its shores, tliat is, 
none are fomid north of this region. 



WINTER. 319 

Sheds a long twilight brightening o'er their field. 
And calls the quiver'd savage to the chase. 

PETER THE GREAT, OF RUSSIA. 

"What cannot active governnaent perform, 950 

New moulding man ? Wide stretching from these shores, 
A people savage from remotest time, 
A huge neglected empire, one vast mind, 
By Heaven inspired, from Gothic darkness call'd. 
Immortal Peter ! first of monarchs ! he 955 

955. Immortal Peter : a monarch of singular energy and originality of 
character, to whom, more than to any other of her monarchs, Russia 
stands indebted for the promotion of her national interests. The services 
which he performed are admirably stated by Thomson, and with great 
fulness of detail, yet some of the points admit of a happy illustration from 
the pages of Russell's Modern Europe. Severjft princes (says this his- 
torian), before this illustrious barbarian, disgusted with tlie pursuits of 
ambition, or tired with sustaining the load of public affairs, had renounced 
their crowns, and taken refuge in the shade of indolence, or of philosophi- 
cal retirement ; but history affords no example of any sovereign who had 
divested himself of the royal character in order to learn the art of govern- 
ing better; that was a etretch of magnanimity reserved for Peter the 
Great. Though almost destitute himself of education, he discovered, by 
the natural force of his genius, and a few conversations with strangers, 
Lis own rude state and the savage condition of his subjects. He resolved 
to become worthy of the character of a man, to see men, and to have men 
to govern. Animated by the noble ambition of acquiring instruction, and 
of carrying back to his people the improvements of other nations, he ac- 
cordingly quitted his dominions in 1697, as a private gentleman in the 
retinue of three ambassadors whom he sent to different courts of Europe. 

As soon as Peter arrived at Amsterdam, which was the first place that 
particularly attracted his notice, he applied himself to the study of com- 
merce and the mechanical arts ; and, in order more completely to acquire 
the art of ship-building, he entered himself as a carpenter in one of the 
principal dock-yards, and labored and lived in all respects, as the common 
journeymen. At his leisure hours he studied natural philosophy, naviga- 
tion, fortification, surgery, and such other sciences as may be necessary to 
the sovereign of a barbarous people. From Holland he passed over to 
England, where he perfected himself in the art of ship-building. King 
William, in order to gain his favor, entertained him with a naval review 



320 WINTEK. 

His stubborn country tamed ; her rocks, her fena. 

Her floods, her seas, her ill-submitting sons ; 

And while the fierce barbarian he subdued. 

To more exalted soul he raised the man. 

Ye shades of ancient heroes, ye who toil'd 960 

Through long, successive ages to build up 

A laboring plan of state, behold at once 

The wonder done 1 behold the matchless prince ! 

Who left his native throne, where reign'd till then 

A mighty shadow of unreal power ; 965 

Who greatly spurn'd the slothful pomp of coiurts ; 

And roaming every land, in every port 

His sceptre laid aside, with glorious hand 

Unwearied plying the mechanic tool. 

Gathered the seeds of trade, of useful arts, 970 

Of civil wisdom, and of martial skill. 

Charged with the stores of Europe, home he goes ! 

Then cities rise amid th* illumined waste ; 

O'er joyless deserts smiles the rural reign ; 

Far distant flood to flood is social join'd ; 91 5 

Th' astonish'd Euxine hears the Baltic roar ; 

Proud navies ride on seas that never foam'd 

With daring keel before ; and armies stretch 

Each way their dazzling files, repressing here 

The frantic Alexander of the North, 980 

made him a present of an elegant yacht, and permitted him tc engage 
in his service a number of ingenious artificers. Thus instructed, and at- 
tended by several men of science, Peter returned to Kussia, after an ab- 
sence of nearly two years, with all the useful and many of the ornamental 
arts in his train. 

By his wise agency the arts and sciences were introduced into his then 
barbarous empire ; in 1724 the first university was estabhslied. In the 
next year Peter died ; and it has been justly said, that perhaps no coun- 
try ever exhibited in so short a time, the wonders that may be eflfected 
by the genius and exertions of one man, 

980. Alexander of the North : Charles XII., of Sweden, who directed 
liis great military energies chiefly against Peter the Great, and the Turkab 



WINTER. 321 

And awing there stern Othman's shrinking sons. 
Sloth flies the land, and ignorance, and vice, 
Of old dishonor proud. It glows around, 
Taught by the Royal Hand that roused the v/hole. . 

Ho was a man of daring courage and singular success in his military en« 
terprises. He made war his business and his glory. His doatli occurred 
in circumstances which show the warlike and intrepid character of tliia 
fighting monarch. He had placed Jiimself with his army before Freder- 
icshall, in Norway, in the month of December, when the cold was so ex- 
treme that many of his soldiers on duty dropped down dead ; but, to ani' 
mate his army, he exposed himself to all the severities of the weatlier, 
and slept even in the open air, with simply his cloak wrapped about him. 
A.S he was surveying by starlight, one night, the operations of his army 
making their approach to the place, he was killed by a ball from the ene- 
my's cannon. The moment he received the blow, though it became almost 
instantly fatal, it is said that he grasped instinctively the liilt of his sword, 
and was found dead with his hand in that position, so characteristic of the 
master-passion of his soul. 

During one of his campaigns against Peter, a proposal of peace was 
sent to him by the latter, to which he arrogantly replied : "I will treat 
at Moscow" — meaning that he would make peace when he had conquered 
the capital of* the Czar. " My brother Charles," replied the Czar, when 
this answer was conveyed to him, " always affects to play the Alexander ; 
but he will not, I'hope, find in me a Darius." Charles, with all the bravery 
and self confidence of Alexander, but without his wisdom and foresight, 
attempted, without adequate preparations, to march to Moscow; and the 
Czar defeated his purpose by destroying the roads and laying waste the 
country. 

In the opinion of Russell, " no prince perhaps ever had fewer weaknesses, 
or possessed so many eminent with so few amiable qualities, as Charles 
XII., of Sweden. Rigidly just, but void of lenity ; romantically brave, 
but blind to consequences ; profusely generous, without knowing how to 
oblige; temperate without delicacy; and chaste without acquiring the 
praise of continence, because he seems to have been insensible to the 
charms of the sex ; a stranger to the pleasures of society, and but slightly 
acquainted with books ; a Goth in his manners, and a savage in his resent 
ments ; resolute even to obstinacy, inexorable in vengeance, and inacces- 
sible to sympathy, he has little to conciliate our love or esteem. But his 
wonderful intrepidity and perseverance in enterprise, his firmness under 
misfortune, his contempt of danger, and his enthusiastic passion for glory, 
will ever command our admiration." 

081. Othman, a distinguished ruler of the Turks in the early part ol 
the fourteenth century. The Turks are here called his sons. 



322 WINTKR. 

One scene of arts, of arms, of rising trade : 985 

For what his wisdom plann'd, and power enforced. 
More potent still, his great example show'd. 

FROST SUCCEEDED BY A THAW. 

Muttering, the winds at eve, with blunted point. 
Blow hollow blustering from the south. Subdued, 
The frost resolves into a trickling thaw. 990 

Spotted the mountains shine ; loose sleet descends, 
And floods the country round. The rivers swell. 
Of bonds impatient. Sudden from the hills, 
O'er rocks and woods, in broad, brown cataracts, 
. A thousand snow -fed torrents shoot at once ; 995 

And, where they rush, the wide-resounding plain 
Is left one slimy waste. Those sullen seas. 
That wash'd th' ungenial pole, will rest no more 
Beneath the shackles of the mighty north ; 
But, rousing all their waves, resistless heave. 1000 

And hark ! the lengthening roar continuous runs 
Athwart the rifted deep ; at once it bursts. 
And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds. 
Ill fares the bark, with trembling wretches charged. 
That, toss'd amid the floating fragments, moors 1005 

Beneath the shelter of an icy isle ; 
While night o'erwhelms the sea, and horror looks 
More horrible. Can human force endure 
Th' assembled mischiefs that besiege them round : 
Heart-gnawing hunger, fainting weariness, 1010 

The roar of winds and waves, the crush of ice, 
Now ceasing, now renew'd with louder rage. 
And in dire echoes bellowing round the main ? 
More to embroil the deep. Leviathan, 

1014 Leviathan : In the forty-first chapter Of the book of Job ve hart 



WINTKR. 323 

And his Unwieldy train, in dreadful sport, 1015 

Tempest the looseii'd brine ; while through the gloom, 
Tar fiom the bleak, inhospitable shore, 
Loading the winds, is heard the hungry howl 
Of famish 'd monsters, there awaiting wrecks. 
Yet Providence, that ever- waking Eje, 1020 

Looks down with pity on the feeble toil 
. Of mortals, lost to hope, and lights them safe, 
Through all this dreary labyrinth of fate. 

THE SEASONS, A PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE. 

'Tis done ! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, 
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. 1025 

How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! 
How dumb the tuneful ! Horror wide extends 
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! 

a description of this marine animal, which applies to the whale more closely 
than io any other monster of the deep. 

1028-1041. Behold, &c.: What a noble and practical conclusion is here 
given to this admirable Poem 1 The author wisely seeks not only to store 
our minds with a knowledge of Nature and of men, but to give our thoughts 
a religious and profitable direction. He calls us to a contemplation of 
our own life as pictured in the scenes of the Seasons which he has so 
beautifully described. He reminds us that Autumn and Winter succeed 
to our Spring and our Summer : that former hopes have fled ; that the 
bustling activities of* vigorous manhood will give place to a more quiet 
mode of life ; that all our schemes, but tlK)se which have virtue or reli- 
gion as their basis, will prove evanescent and profitless. And as the 
opening Spring demonstrates the utilities of Winter, and vindicates the 
wisdom and benevolence of the great Author of the Seasons, so, in the 
future state of man, will be cleared up the mysteries of Divine Providence 
in the present comparatively wintry state of the Christian's existence. 
How consoling to the good, amid tlie adversities and sorrows of the pres- 
ent life, to listen to the concluding lines, in which they are so tenderly 
addressed : 

" Yet bear tip a while, 

Ahd -whnt your bounded view, whicli only saw 

A little part, deenfd evil, is no more : 

The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pasa, 

And one unbounded Spring ea(.ircle ail 1" 



324 WINTEK. 

See here thy pictured life : Pass some few yeai-s, 

Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength, 1030 

Thy sober Autumn fading into age, 

And pale concluding Winter comes at last, 

And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled 

Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes 

Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? 1035 

Those restless cares ? those busy, bustling days ? 

Those gay-spent, festive nights ? those veering thoughts, ) 

Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? 

All now are vanish'd ! Virtue sole siwvives. 

Immortal, never-failing friend of man, 1040 

His guide to happiness on high. And see ! 

'Tis come, the glorious morn ! the second birth 

Of heaven and earth ! Awakening Nature hears 

The new-creating word, and starts to life. 

In every heigh ten'd form, from pain and death J 045 

Forever free. . The great eternal scheme. 

Involving all, and in a perfect whole 

Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads. 

To reason's eye refined clears up apace. 

Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 1050 

Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 

And Wisdom oft arraign'd : see now the cause. 

Why unassuming worth in secret lived. 

And died neglected ; why the good man's share 

In life was gall and bitterness of soul ; 1055 

Why the lone widow and her orphans pined 

In starving sohtude, while Luxury, 

In palaces, lay straining her low thought. 

To form unreal wants ; why heaven-born Truth, 

And Moderation fair, wore the red marks 106% 

Of Superstition's scourge ; why licensed Pain, 

That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, 

Embitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distress'd ! 



WINTEB. 325 

Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 
Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while, 1065 

And what your bounded view, which only saw 
A little part, deem'd evil, is no more : 
The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, 
.^nd one unbounded Spring encircle alL 



V 



Hig\IN ON THE SEASONS. 



Thomson's " Seasons" is as eminently a religious, as it is a 
descriptive poem. Thoroughly impressed with sentiments of 
Veneration for the Author of that assemblage of order and beauty 
wlrich it was his province to paint, he takes every proper occa- 
sion to excite similar emotions in the breasts of his readers. 
Entirely free from the gloom of superstition and the narrowness 
of bigotry, he everywhere represents the Deity as the kind and 
beneficent parent of all his works, always watching over their 
best interests, and from seeming evil always educing the greatest 
possible good to all his creatures. In every appearance of na- 
ture he beholds the operation of a Divine hand ; and regards,- 
according to his own emphatical phrase, each change throughout 
the revolving year as but the " varied God." This spirit, which 
breaks forth at intervals in each division of his poem, shines full 
and concentred in the noble Hymn which crowns the work. 
This piece, the sublimest production of its kind since the days 
of Milton, should be considered as the winding up of all the 
•variety of matter and design contained in the preceding parts ; 
and thus is not only admirable as a separate composition, but is 
contrived with masterly skill to strengthen the unity and con- 
nection of the great whole. — Aikiv. 



HYMN 



These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 

Are but the varied God. The rolling year 

Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 

Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 

Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 5 

Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 

And every sense, and every heart is joy. 

Then comes thy glory in the Summer months, 

With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun 

Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; 10 

And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; 

2. The varied God: A concise and emphatic expression for the varied 
ppf-rations and manifestations of God. 

3. Is full of Thee : This sentiment has been admirably illustrated by 
Dr! Duncan in his fourth volume of the " Seasons," as follows :— It is the 
sense of a present Deity -which fills the heart with tlie deepest and purest 
emotion. When we trace his hand forming the elegant flower, and paint- 
ing its blushing petals, or throwing the green carpet over the earth, or 
rearing the Jofty forest, or spreading out the waters of the great deep, 
and prescribing the bounds which it cannot pass ; when we see Him shin- 
ing in the sun, and giving glory to his morning, mid-day, and evening rays, 
or drawing the curtain of night, and pouring around us the softened bright 
ness of ten thousand sparkling worlds ; when we hear Him whispering iu 
the breeze, murmuri!fg in the stream, or raising his awful voice in tlio 
rolling thunder, it is then that brute nature becomes animated, intelligent, 
and glorious ; the seen is but an indication of the unseen ; the inactive of 
the active ; the lifeless and unintellectual mass of all that is excellent in 
power, and wisdom, and goodaoss. 



328 HYMN. 

And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 

By brooks and groves, in hollow- whispering gales. 

Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined. 

And spreads a common feast for all that lives. 15 

In Winter awful Thou ; with clouds and storms 

Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd ; 

Majestic darkness ! On the whirlwind's wing, 

Riding sublime. Thou bidst the world adore. 

And humblest Nature with thy northern blast. 20 

Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine. 
Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, 
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art. 
Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
Shade unperceived, so softening into shade ; 25 

And all so forming an harmonious whole ; 
That as they still succeed, they ravish still. 
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty Hand, 
That, ever busy, wheels the silent sphere ; 30 

Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence 
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; 
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, S5 

With transport touches all the springs of hfe. 

Nature, ^attend ! join, every living soul 
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky. 
In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 

One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 40 

Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes ; 
Oh, talk of Him in solitary glooms ! 
Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 45 

Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to Heaven 



HYMW. 329 

The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 

His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 

And let me catch it as I muse along. 

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; 60 

Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 

Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 

A secret world of wonders in thyself, 

Sound HIS stupendous praise ; whose greater Yoice 

Or bids you roar or bids your roarings fall. • -53 

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers. 

In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts. 

Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 

Ye forests, bend ; ye harvests, wave to Him ; 

Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 60 

As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 

Ye, that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 

Unconscious lies, eff'use your mildest beams. 

Ye constellations, while your angels strike. 

Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 65 

Great source of day ! best image here below 

Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide. 

From world to world, the vital ocean round. 

On Nature write with every beam his praise. 

The thunder rolls : be hush'd the prostrate world, YO 

While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 

Bleat out afresh, ye hills : ye mossy rocks. 

Retain the sound : the broad responsive low. 

Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; 

And HIS unsufi*ering kingdom yet will come. "75 

Ye woodlands all, awake : a boimdless sonor 



72. Bleat out afresh, ye hills : A reference is implied to the flocks that 
cover them, and by which the act is to be performed : so in the next two 
hnes. the valleys are called upon to raiae the broad responsive low (or 
lowing), that is, from the cattle grazing in them — in allusion to both of 
which, accordinjly, (iud is immediately described as the Great Sh-epherd. 



330 , HYMN. 

Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day, 

Expiring, hiys the warbling world asleep, 

Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 

The listening shades, and teach the night his praise. 80 

Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 

At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 

Crown the great hymn. In swarming cities vast. 

Assembled men, to the deep organ join 

The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 85 

At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; 

And, as each mingling flame increases each. 

In one united ardor rise to Heaven. 

Or, if you rather choose the rural shade. 

And find a fane in every sacred grove ; 90 

There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay. 

The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre. 

Still sing' the God of Seasons as they roll ! — 

For me, when I forget the darling theme. 

Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray 95 

Lussets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams. 

Or Winter rises in the blackening east ; 

Be ray tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, 

And, dead to joy, forget ray heart to beat ! 

Should fate command me to the furthest verge 100 

Of the green earth, to distant barbarous cliraes, 
Rivers unknown to song ; where first the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on th' Atlantic isles ; 'tis naught to me ; 

79. Philomela : The nightingale, much celebrated bj the British Muse, 
as the sweet bird of night. The name was derived from the fable of Phi- 
lomela, a daughter of an Athenian king, being changed into a nightingale. 

81, Ye chief : The human race is here addressed. 

100-18. It would be folly to attempt to enhance the effect of this clos- 
ing paragraph by an exposition. It makes its appeal intelligibly to the 
humblest understanding, and finds its way irresistibly to every heart. It 
is equally beautiful in language, and sublime and elevating in sentiment 



HYMN. 33. 

bince God is ever present, ever felt, 105 

In the void waste as in the cit}^ full ; 

And where He vital breathes there must be joy. 

When e'en at last the solemn hour shall come. 

And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, 

I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, 110 

Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go 

Where Universal Love not smiles around. 

Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 

From seeming evil still educing good. 

And better thence again, and better still, 115 

In infinite progression. But I lose 

Myself in Him, in light ineflfable ! 

Come then, expressive Silence, muse his praise. 

While none can withhold his sympathy from the enraptured poet, whose 
theme rises even beyond his loftiest conceptions, so that, in despair of 
making an adequate exliibition of it, he exclaims — 

" Come then, expressive Silence, muse his praise," 

1 feel disposed, in reference also to the poet himself, in the production of 
tills inconjparable Hymn, so just in its praises of the great Author of all 
good, to make no further comments, but invoke expressive Silence ic 
"muse his praiso." 



INDEX 



Spring. 

Influence of Spring on inanimate matter 46 

Influence of Spring on vegetable matter 49 

The Golden Age ; or man in a state of innocence 56 

The Iron Age ; or man in a state of depravity 57 

Changes consequent upon the Deluge 59 

Censure upon the use of animal food 59 

Trout-fishing ^ 61 

Noon-day recreations 63 

Tlie winding and watered vale 66 

The flower-garden 67 

Devout Address to the Great Source of Being 69 

The love of the groves, and courtship of birds 72 

Nest-building ....'.... 74 

Parental duties of bu'ds 76 

The barbarous bird-cage, and nest-robbery 77 

The young birds taught to fly 78 

Influence of Spring on domestic fowls, on brutes, and monsters of 

the deep. . . . .• 79 

Influence of Spring on man * 83 

The miseries of wild and irregular passion 89 

The tortures of jealousy 92 

The joys of virtuous and wedded love 93 

Qnmmzr. 

The subject proposed 103 

Address to Mr. Doddington 105 

The charms of early morn 106 

Tlie powerful King of Day 108 

The eternal Cause, Support, and End of Creation 113 

The summer forenoon 114 

Summer insects • 115 

Nothing formed in vain, or without a wise purpose 117 

Hay-making 118 

Sheep shearing 119 



834 INDEX. 

Pnge 

Noon-dAj 122 

A woodland scene. ■ 123 

The romantic water- fall . 127 

The wonders of the Torrid Zone 129 

Magnificent rivers 139 

The advantages of tropical climes overbalanced by their peculiar 

disadvantages 142 

The caravan of Mecca 148 

Disasters in tropical seas 149 

Pestilence at Carthagena — The plague 151 

A tremendous storm in Britain 154 

Sad tale of Celadon and Amelia 157 

Damon and Musidora 160 

The soft hour for walking 165 

Complimentary address to Britain 169 

Britain's distinguished sons : ! . . 171 

The saving virtues of a country 1 84 

Sunset .■ 18? 

Summer evening 186 

The night-scene — Meteors and comets 187 

Eulogium on Philosophy 191 

Autumn. 

The subject proposed 199 

Fields ready for harvest 202 

The manifold blessings of industry, and the progress of society 203 

Reaping 207 

Lavinia and Palemon , . 208 

A harvest storm 213 

Shooting and hunting — their barbarity 215 

The fox-hunt 219 

The frolicsome supper 222 

Employments suitable to the "women of Britain '. 224 

The fruit orchard 226 

Doddington's country-seat 227 

The vineyard ;....... 228 

Autumnal fogs, and origin, of springs and rivers 229 

Migration of birds to warmer climates 234 

View of Scotland from the north .^ 236 

An appeal to Scottish patriotism 239 

The woods changing color and losing their foliage 241 

Philosophic melanch<jly — its operations and effects 244 

Pitt and Lord C(jbham 245 

Autumnal moonlight, and meteoric appearances .' 247 

The moonless night : the benighted traveller 249 



INDEX. 335 

The invaded bee-hive 25] 

The last day of Autumn 252 

The pure pleasures of rural life 253 

tointer. 

The subject proposed 267 

Address to the Earl of Wilmington 269 

The first approach of Winter 270 

Cheerless rain-storm 272 

Winter tempests 273 

Snow mantles the earth : disturbs the comfort of animals 277 

The cottager perishing in a snow-storm 280 

Reflections on human poverty and wretchedness 282 

Cruelties of a British prison in the eighteenth century 283 

Wolves descending from the Alps and Apennines 284 

The mighty dead of Greece 287 

The great men of ancient Rome 293 

Winter-evening studies and amusements 300 

Winter evening in the city 302 

The various operations and effects of frost 304 

Sports on the ice and snow 309 

Winter scenes in the Frigid Zone 310 

Tlie awful grandeur of the polar regions 315 

Peter the Great, of Russia 319 

Frost succeeded by a thaw 322 

The Seasons, a picture of human hfe 328 

Htkx on the Season* . , . , 8S6 



H 18 S9 _ hI 








-5^ ^Ci 







.**/^;r-\ ,c°.;^%°- .^*^-^^'X 





(TV 



% 



t\/' :M£\%y: 

















.^'% 



O %***'^^5i»^* * <" Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
C^ * • K * j^O' Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 




.% %. 



.4 



Treatment Date: March 2009 



*- \.c.^ •% PreservationTechnoiogies 



\fX * > A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 



* *^ -^^ 



111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(72^)779-2111 



V. 






v°-n#.. 




v.. % 

























